


Boyscout

by Adolphus Longestaffe (adolphus_longestaffe)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: ASD character, Angst, Asexual Character, Bisexual Male Character, Breathplay, Canon-Typical Violence, Demisexual Character, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Light Bondage, M/M, Military Backstory, Smut, Some McHanzo, Threesome - F/M/M, Whipping, canon-divergent timeline for some major events
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2018-11-12 07:46:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 109
Words: 444,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11157387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adolphus_longestaffe/pseuds/Adolphus%20Longestaffe
Summary: This began as a pre-Overwatch, military backstory for Jack and Gabe, and has grown into something rather larger than I initially intended. This story is meant to run as closely parallel to the official canon as possible, as far as it has been revealed. It will eventually catch up with the game chronologically and will likely surpass it, in which case, it will obviously become canon-divergent. The characters I have written are necessarily far more complex and fully fleshed-out than the game characters are able to be, due to the mode of play and paucity of lore surrounding the game's narrative. As such, they should be treated only as an artist's interpretation, not as by-the-book facsimiles (meaning that they will likely diverge in some ways from the official canon and some popular fan-canons, and I will not be altering them to suit either). All the events of the story are integral to laying a foundation for the characters' later actions and choices and to demonstrating who they were, relative to who they eventually become. That said, this piece is very sexually explicit, so just to be safe, let's call it good old-fashioned smut.





	1. Boyscout

The first time the man fucks him, it’s in the shower. Jack is on a temporary duty assignment at Fort Leavenworth, taking a class from an ex-Soviet GRU officer who has developed a new close-quarters-combat technique. It’s supposed to be unbeatable. It is. Jack gets partnered with one of the assholes from the Army. He sneers and calls Jack “chair force.” Jack replies that he’s a Marine. The man laughs. And proceeds to kick his ass into next Sunday.

Jack’s ego is as bruised as his body when he walks stiffly down the hall to the shared bathroom. These are training-command barracks, so the showers are just a row of heads along the walls in one big, awful communal stall. Jack showers late at night when he’s most likely to be alone. He despises other military men and their latrine talk.

Of course, one of the showers is running and of course it’s Reyes, the asshole who just spent the day beating him black and blue. Jack chooses the shower furthest from Reyes, who, much to Jack’s relief, doesn’t acknowledge him. He just stands there with his head thrown back and his eyes closed, letting the steaming water pour over his face and run in little rivulets down his broad chest and hard abdomen and _Jesus Christ_. The man’s cock is simply enormous. It’s freakish. Jack can’t help but do a double take, the same way he would have if he’d seen a two-headed dog. Reyes catches him and laughs.

“I don’t mind you looking, Boyscout,” he says. “So long as you don’t touch.”

Jack quickly averts his eyes and tries to get the cap off the tiny, stupid shampoo bottle he brought. It rockets out of his grasp and rolls across the floor. Reyes picks it up and that massive cock attached to a man’s body walks toward Jack. Reyes opens the shampoo bottle and hands it to him. Jack’s cheeks burn with embarrassment and he stares at the wall. But Reyes is not going away. He’s standing there, almost underneath the shower head with Jack.

“Not without permission,” Reyes says.

“What—what?” Jack sputters, blinking up through the running water at the fierce brown eyes.

“My cock,” Reyes says bluntly. “Don’t touch it without permission.”

He’s staring Jack down. Jack’s cheeks flush with indignation. He opens his mouth to say “Fuck you,” and Reyes sticks his tongue in it. Just grabs him by the scruff of the neck and puts his mouth on Jack’s like he owns it. And fucking fuck, he _does_. He owns it instantly. Owns Jack. That huge, hard cock is pressed up against Jack’s wet stomach and his head is starting to spin. His knees buckle. Reyes catches him and laughs like lions must laugh when they get their fangs around a gazelle’s throat. Low and visceral. Reyes turns him around and slides his big, hot hands down Jack’s ribcage, around his waist, onto his ass. He spreads Jack apart with his thumbs.

“So pretty,” Reyes growls into his ear. “Such a pretty little hole.” Jack feels it in his teeth.

Reyes slides one finger around the sensitive rim of Jack’s asshole. Jack quivers like a newborn puppy. Reyes pushes a finger inside. Jack moans. Another.

“Wait,” Jack whispers, “Reyes, wait!”

“You scared, cariño?”

“Someone—someone could walk in.”

Reyes laughs soft and deep. He doesn’t stop. He plucks Jack’s insides like a guitar string and Jack shudders and moans. He pushes himself back onto Reyes’ fingers. Reyes bends him over, and Jack puts his hands on the cold tiles of the wall for support. He realizes with an intense feeling of absurdity that he’s still holding the shampoo bottle. Jack is twenty-five years old and he has never been with a man before. He chose a hell of a partner to give it a try, but Jack has never backed down from a challenge. Maybe that’s why he does it.

The shower beats down on his shoulders like hot rain. Reyes goes slow, patiently working that huge, hard shaft into Jack’s tight, unyielding asshole. It hurts. Jack grips the wall and the shampoo bottle and groans through his teeth. His insides are filling up, stretching out, splitting apart. Then Reyes starts to thrust. An aching, throbbing shiver runs through Jack’s spine into his abdomen and up the shaft of his hard cock. Reyes takes him by the hips and fucks him harder.

“Oh—fuck,” Jack gasps. “Fuck. Ffffuhuuuuck!”

“Mmmm,” Reyes purrs. “Come for me cariño. Come on my cock like a good little slut.”

Jack’s insides bite down on Reyes’ solid shaft and he arches his back. The tension builds, swells, and explodes. He comes. Reyes clamps a big wet hand over Jack’s mouth and Jack screams into it. A stifled wail as he sprays thick jets of semen onto the wall. Reyes isn’t done. He digs his fingernails into Jack’s back, drawing blood. 

“Ah—ah….so pretty,” Reyes pants. “So fucking pretty. You’re so tight baby—fuck! I’m gonna come—”

Jack whimpers and trembles as Reyes pounds him, but he keeps thrusting brutally. Then suddenly he yanks that massive, heavy cock out of Jack’s quivering asshole. Jack feels him come, spurting hot globs of semen all over his back. It stings the long, deep scratches.

Reyes rinses the blood and come off the pretty blonde’s taut, muscular body, then off the wall. Jack wraps his arms around himself and stands there shivering, not knowing what to do. Reyes pulls him in close and kisses him. A soft, deep, longing kiss this time. Jack’s stomach does gymnastics. Reyes takes the shampoo bottle and squeezes some into his hand.

“Lean back,” he says gently.

Jack does. Reyes’ strong fingers massage the shampoo into Jack’s scalp. Jack’s eyes flutter shut and he sighs. Goosebumps prickle up all over his body. Reyes guides his head into the steaming water and rinses his hair, carefully wiping the foam from his face, licking Jack’s swollen, pouting lips and tugging at them with his own.

Jack’s big, brilliant blue eyes look up searchingly into Reyes’ dark brown ones. Reyes grins, baring his sharp white teeth. Jack stares after him as he turns without a word and walks out of the showers. Jack hears a locker opening and shutting. He stands there staring at the corner of the wall, even though he can’t see the man. A few minutes pass.

“Thanks, Boyscout,” Reyes calls out.

Jack hears the bathroom door creak open and bang shut. He caps the shampoo and shuts off the water. Silence. Reyes has actually gone. Jack walks on shaky legs to the locker area. He gets his towel and dries off hastily, hurrying to get dressed and get back to his own room.

_What the actual fuck just happened_? he thinks.

He finds he can’t stop thinking it. Thinking about it. Thinking about Reyes. Eventually he falls asleep.


	2. Calaveras Rojas

The next morning, Jack is sitting in his usual seat at the front and center of the class. The instructor has already begun his review of the techniques they’ve covered so far, when Reyes ambles in and takes a seat in the back.

“Captain Reyes,” the instructor says. “I assume you’ve got an excellent reason for being late.”

 _Captain_ , Jack thinks. _I outrank him?_

They wear civvies here, so it’s hard to tell anyone’s pay grade. Somehow everyone knows what service everyone belongs to, though.

“Sorry, sir,” Reyes says with a wicked smirk. “Rough night.”

“I bet it was,” someone says. “How rough was she?” another calls out. Most of the men laugh. Jack does not.

“Alright, gentlemen, that’s enough,” the instructor says. “Back to work.”

For field exercises today, Jack is paired up with another Marine. Reyes is a few yards away, sparring with a supertanker on loan from the Navy. He tosses his partner to the ground and plants his boot on the man’s neck. He looks right at Jack and flashes one of those predatory grins. As a result, Jack gets knocked on his ass. He recovers and subdues his opponent rather easily, but Reyes isn’t looking anymore.

He’s carrying his lunch tray through the dining facility when some voice not belonging to Reyes calls out his name. It’s one of the Marines. Three of them are sitting at a table, and they beckon to him to join them. He sits and begins to eat.

“Hey, Morrison,” his partner from earlier, a man named Egret, says. “Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

The man is smiling and his voice sounds friendly. Jack smiles, too.

“Iowa,” he says.

This elicits a hearty laugh from the table. Jack doesn’t understand why, but he laughs, too.

“This dude kicked my ass so hard,” Egret says admiringly. “Like he wasn’t even trying!”

“I was trying,” Jack says solemnly.

More guffaws of laughter. This appears to be going well, so Jack pretends to enjoy his lunch, keeping generally quiet, and making sure to laugh and smile when other people do. They invite him out for a beer after duty tonight. Jack says sure.

They take a cab to a seedy bar off base called Calaveras Rojas. Jack thinks the place smells like chemical cleaners and tobacco. He orders an old fashioned because it’s the only drink he knows. Grandpa used to order them at restaurants. The other men appear to approve, and he sips it and finds the taste pleasant. The men get up to play pool and Jack watches. He drinks another old fashioned. He is ordering a third when a heavy hand plunks down some cash on the bar next to him.

“Hola, mamí.” It’s Reyes. “Damé una tequila, y…whatever he’s drinking.” He jerks his thumb toward Jack.

The pretty Mexican girl behind the bar smiles and Reyes winks at her. Jack looks stiffly straight ahead.

“What are you doing in this shithole, Boyscout,” Reyes says, nudging Jack with his elbow.

“I came with them,” Jack indicates to the three Marines at the pool table.

The bartender slides their drinks across the bar and Reyes pays. Jack looks up at him, flushes crimson, then looks away.

“Reyes,” a voice calls out, “where the fuck have you been?”

Four men have entered, laughing and talking boisterously. The other Army men from their class.

Reyes turns to them and grins. “Waiting for you, cabrón. Where the fuck have _you_ been?”

He picks up his tequila and joins the group, not looking at Jack again. Jack returns to the pool table. His head is starting to swim and he needs to piss suddenly. He enters the bathroom and gags on the pungent scent of urinal cake and stale urine. Another man comes in and uses the urinal beside Jack’s, whistling noisily as he evacuates. Jack is washing his hands when he sees Reyes standing behind him in the mirror. The whistling man leaves the restroom without washing his. The door bangs shut and Reyes takes Jack by the waist. He pulls him against his body so Jack can feel his hard cock digging into him through his pants.

“Hey cariño,” Reyes purrs, “you want to get out of here?”

“Yes.”

“I’m gonna leave now. Wait five minutes and follow me. I’ll hold the cab.”

“Ok.”

Jack leaves the restroom, forgetting to dry his hands. He wipes them on his pants as he sits down at the table.

“Hey Morrison, you feeling ok?” Egret asks.

“I’m actually a little tired fellas,” Jack says, grateful for the opportunity to escape. “I think I’m gonna call it a night.”

He sees Reyes leaving the bar from the corner of his eye. He’d said to wait five minutes.

“I mean, after I finish my drink, of course,” Jack says.

Egret laughs loudly and slaps him on the back. “Good man!”

Jack makes the last watery sips of the drink last a full five minutes, says goodbye to the men, and makes his way out to the street. A cab is waiting with the back door open. Jack steps inside and shuts it. He sits silent, listening to Reyes chatting with the cab driver in Spanish, till they are deposited on the sidewalk outside the barracks. Reyes doesn’t speak or look at him, he just starts walking. Jack follows him.

They get in the elevator and Reyes says, “Let’s go to your room.”

Jack nods and leads the way, stomach tight with anxiety, cock so hard it aches and chafes against his underwear. He opens the door for Reyes to enter, shutting and locking it behind them, then they are on each other. Kissing wildly and fumbling with buttons like teenagers in a parked car. They have to stop to take off their boots. Reyes is done first and he helps Jack pull off his second one, then pushes him down on the bed. He peels off Jack’s pants and his white underwear, then his own. His are black.

Jack shudders with the intense pleasure of being held down under the solid, heavy weight of Reyes’ naked body. He gasps as Reyes slides his big, spit-slicked fingers into his asshole.

“Mmmm,” Reyes murmurs into his ear. “Locked and loaded, I see. Already hungry for my cock again?”

“Y—yes,” Jack says.

Reyes grinds his hips, pushing their cocks together. Jack bucks up with his hips to increase the pressure.

Reyes growls approvingly. “Good. Such a pretty little whore.”

He pushes Jack’s legs apart and teases his tender opening with the swollen, slippery head of his cock. Jack’s cock drools and he grips Reyes with his legs, trying to pull him inside. Reyes grins wickedly and draws back a little.

“You want me to fuck you, cariño?”

“Yes, yes!”

“Tell me.”

“I…want you to fuck me.”

“Beg me.”

“Please,” Jack whispers, his cheeks flushing with humiliation. “Please fuck me.”

It’s worth it. Reyes’ eyes kindle with something ferocious. They seem to light up and get blacker at the same time. He plunges himself into Jack, almost snarling. Jack cries out and Reyes clamps that heavy hand down on his mouth. He’s looking right into Jack’s eyes. Holding him captive with that gaze. Dominating him.

“Touch yourself,” Reyes says hoarsely.

Jack does it. Stroking his cock mechanically in time with Reyes’ thrusts. Reyes grunts and pushes Jack’s legs further back, spreading him wider, lifting him higher. Jack’s body tenses all over and his muscles begin to shake. He’s going to come. His eyes roll back and fall closed. A sharp slap across the face jolts them back open. He stares in wide-eyed disbelief at the man who is fucking him.

“Look at me,” Reyes growls. He pins Jack’s hands to the bed at his sides. “Keep your eyes on me. Look me in the eye while I make you come.”

Jack stares helplessly into Reyes’ black eyes as he comes. He sees stars, he comes so hard, but he keeps his eyes open. He spurts hot streaks all the way up his stomach and onto his chest. Reyes’ cock is rigid and his thrusts are growing sharper and more rapid. He’s still holding Jack’s blue eyes with his own. He starts to pull out.

“No,” Jack gasps. “Keep fucking me. Come—come inside me.”

Reyes lunges forward, taking Jack’s face in his hands. He covers Jack’s mouth with his and groans right into it as his body jerks and convulses with his forceful ejaculation.

“Hah—ah, holy fuck, Boyscout,” Reyes pants. “That was fucking hot. Who taught you how to talk that way?”

“I didn’t mean for it to be…hot,” Jack says. “It was just—I just said what I was thinking. I wanted you to come inside me, and so…” He trails off, realizing this is the longest sentence he’s ever spoken to the man who has fucked him twice.

“That makes it hotter,” Reyes says. The mess Jack has made sticks and pulls at their chest hairs as Reyes rolls onto his back. “Do you even know how ridiculously hot you are?”

“I’m aware that I’m considered to be traditionally attractive,” Jack says. “But no one’s ever called me hot before.”

“Not to your face, maybe,” Reyes laughs.

He strokes Jack’s pale blonde hair lazily. Jack rolls onto his side and looks at him.

“Reyes,” he says.

“Gabriel,” Reyes replies.

“Gabriel. I’m not…gay.”

“Neither am I,” Gabriel says with a chuckle and a wink.

“No, I don’t mean that in the official, keep it to yourself way. I mean I’m not homosexual. Or…I thought I wasn’t. I’d never tried having sex with a man before, though, so I guess I wouldn’t have known either way.”

Gabriel cocks his head to one side and gazes at his handsome bedmate. “Are you fucking with me?”

“No. I’m being honest.”

“Well, what’s your verdict, Major Morrison? You thinking about crossing over?”

“Jack.”

“Jack,” Gabriel smiles.

“I don’t know. I like having sex with you. Much more than I’ve liked having sex with women. What does that mean?”

Reyes shrugs. “Maybe nothing. I mean, sexuality is a lot more fluid than that. It doesn’t have to come down to a binary.”

“Do you have sex with women?”

“No. I did when I was a teenager, but I was usually too drunk to tell the difference.”

“Do you identify yourself as homosexual?”

“Not if I want to keep my job. Come here.”

Gabriel stretches out his arms and Jack nestles his body into them as easily and naturally as if they’ve been lovers for years. Enclosed in the warmth and scent of the other man, Jack dozes and begins to drift off.

“Jack,” Gabriel says softly. “Do you want me to sleep here?”

Jack buries his face in the crook of Gabriel’s neck and drapes an arm over his chest.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “Sleep here with me, Gabriel.”


	3. Happy Birthday

Jack wakes with a start and sits bolt upright. The sun is already slanting through his window, meaning it’s midmorning at least and he is late for class. Jack has never been late for anything. His heart pounds with anxiety. He snatches up his phone to attempt to assess why his alarm hasn’t sounded. The first thing he sees is the date. Saturday, October 12th. Relief washes over him and he lies back down. His mind grows clearer as the fog of sleep gradually burns off, then his heart sinks. He is alone. Gabriel has gone while he slept. It’s possible he’s gone to shower. But he’d have no reason to come back. It’d be unwise to risk discovery that way. He looks around, hoping to see…what? He isn’t sure. Some sign to indicate the man had even been there, maybe. There isn’t anything, of course.

He needs to shower, himself. Perhaps he’ll catch up with Gabriel there. He pulls on his PT clothing and collects his toiletries, trying to convince himself he’s not hurrying for the sake of bumping into the man. What would he say, anyway? He feels intensely ridiculous and halfway down the hall, he almost turns back. But he has to shower, one way or another, so he grits his teeth and goes into the bathroom. He hears low voices from the showers, and his stomach knots with apprehension. The voices belong to two Air Force men who look very hung over. Jack feels an odd mixture of relief and disappointment as he steps under the steaming water.

One of the Air Force men is saying something, and Jack realizes it’s directed at him. He turns.

“Pardon me?”

The man laughs. “I said holy shit, man. Looks like you had some fun last night.”

“How do you mean?” Jack asks, genuinely perplexed.

“I mean, either that, or you’ve got one hell of a cat.”

“Oh.” Jack recalls the deep scratches on his back. He tries to match the man’s tone and knowing smirk, “Yeah, one hell of a cat.”

Both men laugh, so he has apparently succeeded.

“If you don’t mind me asking, where exactly would one pick up a cat like that in these parts?”

“Calaveras Rojas,” Jack says.

The man thanks him for the tip and calls him buddy. To Jack’s relief, the two leave. He bathes quickly and returns to his room to dress for the day. He’s not sure what else to do, so he walks to the mess to get breakfast. It’s just past 1100 hours and they’re switching to the lunch menu, so he orders a hamburger and french fries because it takes the least effort to think about. He’s carrying his tray to a table, when he sees Gabriel. He is across the room in a booth with the four other Army men from their class. They are laughing and talking animatedly. Jack sits at the first empty table he finds, half hoping to be overlooked and half hoping to be noticed. He eats his fries without knowing what they taste like and attempts to keep his eyes down, but they keep straying across the sparsely populated room to Gabriel and his comrades. They appear to have finished and are getting up now. As they leave, they pass in front of Jack’s table. Jack watches from the corner of his eye. Gabriel doesn’t acknowledge him at all. Not even a glance in his direction. Jack loses his appetite. He tosses his half-eaten fries and untouched burger in the trash on his way out.

He had intended to do laundry today, so that’s what he does. He finds he has never obtained so little satisfaction from neatly folding his warm, freshly laundered undershirts and socks before. He has always enjoyed productive mundane tasks like this. But today, the work is dull and tedious. And his pants aren’t dry yet. He sets the dryer for another thirty minutes. Maybe he’ll call his mother. He steps outside and unlocks his phone. The contacts menu is open. Someone has added a number he doesn’t recognize and assigned the name as simply “G.” Jack smiles and there is a warm, swelling feeling in his chest. He fights the urge to use the number immediately. Just to send a message saying hello or something. He thinks of a multitude of things to say, all of which seem so ridiculous and pathetic, he’s ashamed of himself for even having contemplated them.

His phone rings in his hand, startling him half out of his senses. He touches the button to answer it.

“Hi, mom.”

“Hey, Jackie, honey! Happy birthday!”

“Thanks mom. Is that dad I hear?”

“Your father and your aunt Liz and uncle John—keep it down, I’m talking to Jackie!—they say happy birthday, and Molly is here with the baby and he’s the sweetest thing ever. How are you, honey? Are you doing anything special today?”

“Not really. I’ll probably go out with some of the guys later.”

“That sounds nice, honey. And we’ll have a big birthday party for you when you come up. Hang on, your sister wants to talk to you, bye honey, love you!”

“Love you too, mom.”

There is a slight scuffle and some background laughter.

“Jack, hey! Happy birthday! How are you?”

“Hey Moll, I’m really good. How are you and the little quarterback?”

“Oh, we’re hanging in there. He’s getting so big, Jack, you should see him. He has the fattest little hands and he wants to grab everything now. His favorite things are mom’s hair and mom’s earrings. I can’t wait for you to come up.”

“I’m excited to see you all. It’ll be nice to be home.”

“How long are you staying?”

“I got seven days of leave, so I’ll be there from the 19th till the 26th.”

“Great, Jack, that’s so great. Text me your flight information, ok? We’ll pick you up from the airport.”

“Thanks, Moll. I will.”

“Ok, Jack, I better go, but I’ll see you soon, and happy birthday again.”

“Thank you. Tell dad and uncle John and aunt Liz that I said hello and I love them, ok?”

“I will. Bye Jack!”

“Bye Moll.”

Jack feels a twinge of homesickness after hearing his sister’s voice. He’s glad he requested leave to follow this TDY. It would’ve been cruel to his mother not to do so, since he is only a five hour drive from home now, after spending the past two years across the country at Camp Pendleton. He’s been home three times since he began the Marine Corps, and each time has been pleasant, banal, and filled with the garrulous warmth of his large family. He wonders what his conservative, middle-class parents would think of the scarred, foul-mouthed Latino Army captain who has been enthusiastically sodomizing the family golden boy. He amuses himself with the possible scenarios as his laundry dries.

Back in his room, he puts away his clean clothing and checks the time. It’s only 1400. He feels restless and agitated in a way he has never been accustomed to. He is usually perfectly happy to be alone, but today he feels desperately, achingly lonely. He lies on his bed. His pillow smells like Gabriel. Not quite cologne. Something more bracing and masculine. Aftershave maybe. Fuck. He’s rock hard. He unzips his jeans and eases his cock out of his underwear, pulling the elastic band down so it sits just under his testicles. He turns over onto his hands and knees and buries his face in the pillow, breathing in deeply as he strokes his cock. Gabriel’s eyes. Gabriel’s mouth. Gabriel’s cock inside him. He strokes harder, faster, almost frantically.

“Fuck, Gabriel, fuck me, fuck me,” he groans into the pillow. “Gabriel…fuck—ah!”

He comes right onto the bedspread, panting and twitching, and clutching his throbbing cock. He pulls off his shirt and wipes up the clear, faintly acrid-smelling fluid, then tosses the shirt on the floor and falls face down into the pillow that smells like Gabriel.

He awakes several hours later to a knock at his door. He sits up and blearily checks his phone. It reads 18:19. Fuck. He’s slept for four hours. He has the presence of mind to zip up his pants before he answers the door. He smiles to mask his disappointment at seeing Egret standing there in the hall.

“Hey man,” Egret says. “Did I wake you up?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean to take a nap anyway, so thanks. What’s up?”

“Me and the boys are going out tonight, and I thought you might want to join us, if you’re not busy.”

“Free as air,” Jack says. “What time are you—” his phone vibrates in his hand.

G: what are you doing

“Shit, it’s my mom,” Jack says. “I’ve got to call her right now. Can I get back to you in a little bit?”

“Sure, man. We’re not leaving till around 2100 anyway.”

“Give me your number.”

Egret relays the information and Jack adds the contact to his phone.

“I’ll text you in a bit,” he says.

“Cool. I’m in 302a, if you want to come by, too.”

“Cool, thanks,” Jack says, using Egret’s word.

He shuts the door and stares at the message from Gabriel. How the fuck should he respond to this.

He types “Thinking about you” then deletes it. That’s stupid. He thinks the direct route is likely to be his best bet with a man like Gabriel.

Jack: Nothing. Come fuck me.

A minute passes. Then two. Jack looks anxiously at the screen.

G: you little whore

G: where are you

Jack: In my room

G: let’s go somewhere

Jack: Where?

G: the beach

Jack: No beaches in Kansas Gabe.

G: mouthy bitch

G: I like that. Call me Gabe.

Jack: Where do you want to go Gabe?

G: fuuuck this whole state is a shitpile

G: let’s get a hotel off base and just fuck all night

Jack: Sounds good to me.

Five minutes pass. Jack drums his fingers nervously on his phone’s screen.

G: go to the PX. I’ll pick you up in a half hour

Jack: Cab?

G: no I’ve got a car

Jack: Cool. See you there.

Jack hastily pulls on a fresh t-shirt and stuffs a clean set of clothes into his duffel bag. He wishes he had a more fashionable jacket. Gabriel wears a heavy, grey hooded jacket and black t-shirt and he looks so _cool_. Oh well. He dons his navy blue windbreaker, slides his phone into his pocket and heads out the door.


	4. Michelangelo

Jack sits on a bench outside the post exchange, feeling like a child waiting for a parent to retrieve him from school. He suddenly remembers Egret’s invitation. He gets out his phone to make his excuses.

Jack: Sorry, something came up and I won’t be able to make it out tonight. Next time, ok?

A few minutes pass.

Egret: No problem. See you later.

Egret: She hot?

Jack: You have no idea.

Egret: Fuck yeah, man. Get it!

Jack: Thanks

Jack muses on the perplexing idea that men appear very quick to excuse any social slight, if the reason is an opportunity to have sex with a woman. His phone vibrates again.

G: I see you. Black caddy, third row. Come on.

Jack looks around and sees a glossy, black, late-model Cadillac sedan parked in the third row of spaces from the front of the store. He climbs in and glances about at the leather interior and luxurious wood-grain paneling.

“Gabe,” he says, “tell me the Army isn’t paying for you to rent a Cadillac while you’re on TDY.”

“Fuck no,” Gabe says. “This baby’s all mine. I drove in from Fort Hood.”

“I think maybe I joined the wrong service. This is a hell of a car.”

“Glad you like it,” Gabe says with a smirk.

“Where are we going?”

“Kansas City. It’s about a forty-minute drive, but it’s nice and far from here. Got us a room at some dump downtown.”

Jack smiles, finding himself oddly charmed by the idea of the coarse-grained Army captain on the phone with a concierge booking a hotel room.

“What’s that look for?” Gabe asks.

“Nothing. It’s just a little…odd, you know? We’re driving off like a couple on vacation and I—I don’t know anything about you.”

“What do you want to know?”

There is something in his tone that warns Jack away from prying too deeply into the man’s personal details. He keeps it professional.

“What do you do? At Fort Hood?”

“Battlefield Surveillance Brigade. Hopefully I won’t be there long.”

“Why?”

“I’m trying to transfer to Langley.”

“SOG?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.”

“We’ll see. I’m supposed to hear back any day now. But I should get it. Then I’ll be working with the spooks and freaks at the CIA.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“Maybe.”

“I hope you get in.”

“Thanks.”

There is a long pause, and Jack feels immensely uncomfortable.

“What do you do?” Gabriel asks at last.

“Light Armored Recon Battalion.”

“No shit? That’s pretty much the same job, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Well, I mean, we do pretty much the same thing you guys do, I think.”

“You mean you and I don’t have the same job specifically. Because you’re a field-grade officer.”

“Something like that, yeah,” Jack says uneasily.

Gabriel laughs. “Jack, I don’t care that you outrank me. Don’t be weird about it, ok?”

“Ok.”

“How’d you get promoted so young, anyway?”

“Special commendation, fast tracked, I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“So you’ve seen combat.”

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.”

“Gabe, how do you know how old I am?”

“I looked at your ID this morning,” Gabe grins wickedly. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Jack laughs. “This hotel thing, this isn’t about that, right?”

“Not a chance. I just want to fuck you somewhere I can make you scream without it becoming the subject of a court martial.”

Jack’s stomach flutters and his face feels hot. On a sudden impulse, he reaches out his hand and slides it between Gabe’s thighs.

Gabe’s smile broadens. “Oh yeah?”

Jack shrugs innocently and continues to massage the man’s inner thigh, working his way up to the groin. He stops.

“Gabe?”

“Yes, Jack?”

“May I have permission to touch your cock?”

Gabe makes a sound halfway between a laugh and a growl. “Oh cariño, you had better.”

Jack unzips the fly of Gabe’s black jeans and slides his hand beneath the waistband of his underwear. There it is. Already hard. He pulls it out and begins to stroke it. Gabe grunts approvingly and leans back against his headrest. He keeps his eyes fixed doggedly on the road as Jack teases and fondles his aching erection. He’s beginning to sweat.

“Suck me,” he pants. “Suck me off.”

Jack hesitates. Gabe grabs the pretty blonde by his pretty blonde hair and pushes his head into his lap.

“Suck me,” he repeats.

Jack opens his mouth and lays his tongue against the head of Gabriel’s cock. He tastes the thick, salty pre-ejaculate and gags a little. He’s never tasted semen. Gabriel laughs softly. Jack licks his cock up and down the shaft, then returns to the ruddy, round head to tease it with flicks of his tongue. Gabriel is panting and thrusting up with his hips. Jack opens his mouth wider and swallows the massive thing as best he can, stroking the shaft as he licks and sucks it.

“Fuck, Jack,” Gabe groans. “Yeah, like that. You’re so good with your tongue, baby. Fuck. Fuck—I’m gonna come.”

He holds Jack’s hair firmly in one hand and pushes Jack’s head down onto his cock, thrusting it deep into his throat. It throbs and spasms. Jack gags and chokes as his mouth fills with Gabe’s hot, salty ejaculation. He pauses for an instant, then he swallows it.

“Did you—” Gabe begins, astonished.

“I did,” Jack interrupts, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. He opens his mouth as if to prove it, which makes Gabe laugh out loud.

“Where’d a straight boy like you learn to suck dick that way?”

Jack shrugs. “I just thought of what I would like and did that. I’m glad it worked for you.”

“Fuck me,” Gabe says, still laughing. “You might just be one in a million, Jack Morrison,”

“Thank you.”

When they arrive at the hotel Reyes referred to as a dump, Jack wonders if “dump” is some kind of slang for “ultra-luxury.” The hotel is almost sarcastically lavish, from the uniformed footmen to the ornate architecture. A black sign above the arched entryway reads “Michelangelo” in gold lettering. Jack feels grimy and underdressed as two attendants open the double doors, ushering him into a vast, marble-floored lobby. He’s never been in a place this nice in his life and he’s afraid it shows. Gabe however, appears entirely at ease.

He saunters across the palatial lobby, leans his elbow on the desk and says, “Reyes.”

Smiling hostesses greet him. They call him sir. They fawn and giggle. One blushes when he winks at her. Jack stands back enjoying the scene for a moment, then Gabe annihilates him. He steps over to Jack, hands him a key card, and right there in full view of the beaming staff, takes him by the chin and plants a kiss on his cheek. Jack blushes up to the ears and the hostesses giggle some more.

“Ok, gentlemen, right this way,” a pretty young woman in a snappy grey pantsuit says. She’s wearing a gold nametag that says “Rebecca: Concierge & Hospitality Specialist.”

“I hope you’re enjoying our city, Mr. Reyes,” she beams as they step onto the elevator.

“Very much, so far,” Gabe says. “Say, Rebecca, what’s good to eat around here? I want to treat my husband to a nice birthday dinner.”

Jack’s already pink cheeks turn bright red and he tries to melt into the wall. Rebecca flashes a big, white-toothed smile. She says that the hotel restaurant is excellent and babbles about the chef and his culinary philosophy. They get off the elevator somewhere around the ozone layer.

“Here we are, gentlemen,” Rebecca the Concierge and Hospitality Specialist says, “the presidential suite.”

They follow her into what appears to be a large living room. Jack just has time to wonder where the bed is, when she opens another door and explains that the bedroom is through here. She asks if there is anything else she can do for them. Gabe says no. She reminds them that room service is available 24 hours a day, and she’s just a phone call away, and finally departs.

“Husband?” Jack exclaims. “Gabe, what are you doing?”

“Just amusing the hotel staff. These Kansas city girls could use a little entertainment. Besides, they ate it up.”

“Alright then dear, what’s your plan? You want to try out that Jacuzzi tub?”

“Mmm, maybe later, if you’re very good,” Gabe replies, pulling Jack in for a kiss. “Let’s have dinner. I hear the hotel restaurant is excellent.”

“From the hotel concierge.”

“Rebecca wouldn’t lie to us!”

“Gabe, I think I might be a little underdressed for this place,” Jack says, prying himself free. “All I’ve got are t-shirts and jeans. You said a hotel. I didn’t know you actually meant four-star resort.”

“Is it?”

“It’s printed on every piece of paper in here,” Jack indicates to the room service menu.

“What do you know,” Gabe says, eyeing the document. “Well, you’re a five-star piece of ass, so I think I’m getting the better end of the deal.”

“Piece of ass? How dare you,” Jack says, with mock indignation. “I’m your husband!”

“Shut the fuck up and kiss me.”

Jack shuts the fuck up and kisses Gabe to his satisfaction, then they head down to the much-lauded hotel restaurant.


	5. The Lydian Lounge

The hotel restaurant is called the Lydian Lounge and it’s just about what Jack expects: a low-lit, dark-wood furniture, candles on the tables kind of place. A gangly teenaged boy in black slacks and a crisp, white button-down shirt, two sizes too big for him, seats them at a corner booth. He lays down single-page menus and a leather folder containing beverage selections, then departs with the promise that their server will be right over. Jack is suddenly aware that he is very hungry. He hasn’t eaten anything since those soggy fries at lunch time. He studies his menu. He wants to ask Gabe what “charcuterie” means, but he thinks the better of displaying his lack of sophistication and holds his tongue.

“What looks good?” Gabe wants to know.

“Everything. I’m so hungry I could eat a…whatever this is.”

Jack points to a dish on the menu called Crème de Lapin.

“That’s rabbit, and no you won’t,” Gabe says. “Eat a cow like a good farm boy.”

“Gabe, this menu doesn’t have any prices on it,” Jack says, before he can think not to.

“That’s because there aren’t any for you. In fact, give me that.” He takes away Jack’s menu. “I’m going to order for you.”

“Thank you Gabe,” Jack laughs. “You really know how to make a guy feel like a woman in the 1950s.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t make you wear a dress, sweet cheeks.”

The waitress, another pretty young woman, arrives with a carafe of water and two wine glasses. She asks for their drink order. Jack opens his mouth to say “old fashioned,” but Gabe interrupts.

“Don Julio Anejo, neat,” he says. “For him, too.”

“Tequila?” Jack says. “I don’t drink tequila, Gabe.”

“Don’t drink tequila? That’s it. I want a divorce.”

“You knew who you married,” Jack says without skipping a beat.

Gabe laughs aloud and the waitress joins in affably.

“Two Don Julios,” Gabe says firmly. “I know I can change him.”

“Alright,” the waitress grins, “I’ll get those right out to you, gentlemen.”

Jack follows Gabe’s lead and sips his tequila slowly. He is pleasantly surprised by the warm, earthy, aromatic flavor of the liquor. He’d always thought of tequila as something people only drank when they were desperate to get drunk, and he says so.

“Most of the time that’s true, especially where I'm from,” Gabe says. “But you wouldn’t waste this stuff like that. This is a work of art.”

“Where are you from?”

“Los Angeles.”

“Wow. That’s basically the opposite of my home town.”

“Which is?”

“Cedar Rapids, Iowa.”

Gabe laughs and shakes his head. “Jack, are you telling me you’re really, actually a corn-fed Iowa farm boy? Christ.”

“Not exactly,” Jack says, a little abashed. “I didn’t live on a farm. But yeah, I’m from Iowa. Does it show that badly?”

“If I had to make a bet,” Gabe says, “that’s where I’d have put my money, yeah.”

“What else can you tell about me?”

Gabe leans back and swirls his glass thoughtfully.

“Middle class,” he says, “big family, lots of brothers and sisters, parents are good, upstanding…Baptists, I’m going to say, and they were high-school sweethearts.”

Jack flushes and laughs. “Jesus. Everything then. Except I only have one sister, my big sister Molly. But I have about six-hundred cousins to make up the difference. What about you?”

“You can’t tell?”

“No,” Jack says honestly. “I can’t tell anything about you. You’re Mexican. Well, Mexican-American, but that’s about it. I don’t even know how old you are, which actually isn’t really fair, come to think of it.”

“Try.”

“Ok, well, Catholic maybe? Big family too, probably…” Jack pauses, looking hard at the man seated across from him. “No,” he says slowly. His brow knits. “No, you don’t have any family, do you. You’re…on your own.”

Gabe’s eyes harden and he looks away.

“Oh, Gabe, I’m sorry,” Jack says anxiously. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Gabe cuts him off. His eyes soften again and he smiles broadly. “It was just a stupid guessing-game anyway. Let’s talk about something else.”

They talk about the new CQC technique Major Andreev has been teaching them, and which is a subject of intense interest to them both. Gabe thinks it’ll be a game-changer and Jack agrees. Jack intends to say just that when he makes his report to command, and hopefully they’ll be getting the entire battalion trained in it within the year. Jack eats something called Filet Oscar, which is an impossibly tender cut of beef, served with crab meat, asparagus, and some kind of creamy sauce on top. He can’t conceal his delight with the dish, and the obvious relish with which he savors each bite pleases Gabriel immensely. He is eating pan-roasted sea scallop risotto, at which Jack wrinkles his nose and refuses to try.

Jack is full of delicious food and on his third tequila, and has begun to relax. In fact, he’s gotten a little tipsy. He is suddenly acutely aware of the severe, ruggedly handsome man with whom he is sitting, in a way he hasn’t been before. It occurs to him that he’s still been thinking of Gabe as something of an idea. A fascinating concept, rather than a tangible human being. He’s startled by the realization, and wonders what it means. He leans his head to one side, studying the scarred, angular face, strong, finely cut jaw, large brown eyes, and heavy black brow. Who is this man, really?

“Jack,” Gabe says, “what is it?”

“Why…why are you doing this?” Jack asks. “Why are you being so kind to me, I mean? This, all of this, it’s something people do for someone…special.”

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, Morrison,” Gabe says, almost abruptly. “I brought you here because this is where I wanted to go and I wanted you to come with me. That’s all.”

The words hit Jack like a slap and he shuts his mouth tightly. He looks down into his glass and swirls it, as he has seen Gabe do.

“I just meant…thank you, is all,” he says quietly. “I’ve really enjoyed this.”

He raises his eyes and looks up timidly at the man. Gabe looks back, right into those big, brilliant pools of blue and his self control deserts him.

“I like you, Jack,” he blurts out. “I like you more than I thought I would. More than I intended to. I saw you eating alone in the mess on your birthday and I wanted to—to make you…happy. Christ. I fucking said it. Are you happy?”

He finishes his tequila in one go and stares miserably at the table.

Jack is happy. He’s so happy he wants to cry, which makes no sense to him at all. His chest is full of that warm, tight, feeling again, like his heart and lungs are swelling. It feels like pain. But it feels good, too. He is trying to describe it to himself when the waitress arrives to inquire about dessert. Gabe’s wretched expression instantly dissolves into a cheerful smile and he says no, thank you. Yes, bill it to the room, please. Thanks, Tonya.

They are in the elevator again. Jack puts his hands on Gabe’s shoulders and looks up into his dark brown eyes.

“I like you, too, Gabe,” he says. “We’ve only got a week left here. So let’s make the most of it.”

Gabe draws him in and kisses him until the elevator reaches their floor.


	6. They Call the Wind Maria(h)

Jack flops down onto the bed. He’s not exactly drunk, but his head feels warm and giddy with the effects of the tequila. Where did Gabe go? He hears the toilet flush and the water running. Oh right. He stares up at the ceiling and thinks about the shower. _The_ shower. The one that changed everything. He wants to know why Gabe did what he did. It was a pretty risky move, which could easily have broken the other way and ended in disaster. He feels a tug on his foot. Gabe is pulling his boot off.

“Gabe, why did you do it?” Jack says.

“Do what?”

“Why’d you kiss me in the shower? How’d you know I wouldn’t go ballistic and turn you in?”

Gabe laughs. His rumbling, predatory, lion’s laugh. “Oh cariño. I knew.”

Jack lifts his head to look at Gabe and has it pushed right back down. Gabe unlaces his other boot.

“How did you know?” Jack insists.

“I spent the whole day with my hands on you,” Gabe replies.

He drops the boot and climbs over Jack, resting the full, solid heaviness of his hard body on top of him. Jack shudders and sighs as all his muscles liquefy at once.

“You responded just like that,” Gabe says, grazing Jack’s throat with his teeth.

“Like how,” Jack asks dreamily, craning his neck to bare more of his throat to the lion.

Gabe’s breath is hot on his skin and his teeth dig in deeper. Jack gasps softly and shivers again.

“The way you are now,” Gabe says. “Submissive.”

“Submissive?”

“Yeah. You liked me throwing you on the ground and holding you down. That’s why you let me do it. I thought you might let me take you right there if I tried. Fuck, I wanted to. It took everything I had to make myself wait to get you alone in the shower.”

Jack is utterly bewildered. He tries to remember his responses when they fought. His head is hazy, but he recalls something. He’d tried his best to parry Gabe’s rapid strikes and to break free of his strangling holds, but it had been as if his muscles simply wouldn’t obey him. They had loosened under the man’s powerful hands, rather than struggling against them. He’d thought he was just clumsy and out of practice, but he’d destroyed Egret, a man nearly as strong and fast as Gabe, with no effort at all. He realizes with a jolt that he had been letting Gabe dominate him. And that he had liked it. And that Gabe had known.

“Wait, what do you mean get me alone in the shower?” Jack says.

“We’ve been living in the same barracks for two weeks,” Gabe says. “What kind of surveillance officer would I be if I hadn’t noticed the one man who waits till everyone is in bed to take his showers?”

“Oh,” Jack laughs. “Well in that case, I’m a little embarrassed.” But he doesn’t really mind the idea of Gabe having noticed him. He likes it very much, in fact. “So you were watching me?”

“I was,” Gabe growls into Jack’s ear. Jack feels it in his blood. “Stalking you like a wild animal. I was hunting you, Jack.”

“No, Gabe, you weren’t,” Jack says nervously. “That’s silly…why would you do that?”

“Why do predators usually stalk their prey?”

“But why me? Did I look like…worthwhile prey?”

“Jack,” Gabe says, drawing back to look into his face. “Tell me you’re being modest and fishing for compliments, here. Because if you genuinely don’t know why I’d be almost out of my mind to have you, then I need to have a word with your parents. Because you have a seriously fucked self-concept.”

Jack blinks and swallows. “I’m—I’m being modest.”

Gabe smiles. “No you’re not. Jesus. The whole moon-faced farm boy thing, it isn’t an act at all. You’re really this oblivious.”

“Oblivious?” Jack says, a little offended. “I’m not stupid, Gabe. I’m a field-grade officer in charge of a combat-seasoned recon unit.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid, Jack. I think you’re probably quite a bit smarter than me. But you’re oblivious to yourself. To what you are.”

Jack considers this for a moment.

“I suppose that’s true,” he says. “I’m twenty-six years old and I had no idea I liked having sex with men till you fucked me.”

Gabe laughs and continues pressing his teeth into Jack’s throat.

“What am I, Gabe?” Jack asks.

“You’re mine,” Gabe purrs. “All mine.”

 _I’m his_. Jack says to himself, rolling the thought around in his mind. He knows it’s true with every molecule in his body. He is strangely exhilarated by the idea of being possessed by this man and made to submit to his will. To experience the freedom of being conquered. Held in thrall and entirely at his command.

His head whirls as Gabe wraps a strong, calloused hand around his throat. His eyes roll back and he arches his spine to press his body up into Gabe’s.

“Tell me.” Gabe’s hand squeezes tighter. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” Jack says breathlessly. “I’m—”

His voice chokes as Gabe’s hand presses into his windpipe, stopping the airway. Jack’s body quakes with ecstasy. His head buzzes and his vision goes black. Just for an instant, then he’s taking a deep, gulping breath and he is intensely, acutely awake.

“Oh, fuck,” he sputters, staring wide-eyed into Gabe’s face. “Oh. Fuck.”

“Did I scare you?” Gabe asks, a note of anxiety creeping in at the edge of his voice.

“No,” Jack says, shaking his head. “No, you didn’t scare me.” He grabs Gabe’s shirt with both hands and pulls at it feverishly. “Fuck, Gabe—do it again. Choke me again.”

Gabe’s eyes kindle with that black fire. He bares his sharp, white teeth and bites into the meat of Jack’s neck, almost hard enough to draw blood. Jack gasps and whimpers, but he doesn’t fight. His body is slack and pliant in Gabe’s strong hands. Gabe pulls him up off the bed.

“Take off your clothes and go put your hands on the mirror. Don’t move them unless I tell you to.”

Jack strips, leaving his clothing where it falls. He crosses to the low dressing table, behind which a large mirror is attached to the wall. He has to bend over the dresser to put his hands on the mirror. The edge of it digs into his hard cock. The mirror fogs slightly between his fingers, outlining the position of his hands. He can see his cock in the reflection where it meets the dresser. He can’t see Gabe in the reflected room, but he can hear him moving. He’s going into the living area. Jack waits. He’s starting to get cold.

Gabe returns. He’s removed his shirt, but kept his jeans on. He’s carrying a chair. He sets it down directly behind Jack. Jack jerks and shivers as the cold metal buckle on Gabe’s belt digs into the bare skin of his ass. Gabe’s hot mouth is on his skin. His big, rough hands are on his back, moving slowly up, sliding around over his ribs. Jack sees Gabe’s fingers twist his nipples before he feels it. He gives a little yelp of pain. Gabe laughs that low, rumbling laugh again. He steps back. Jack hears the buckle being unfastened and the quick _snick_ of the belt being pulled out of its loops. He trembles with anticipation and fear.

Then, _crack_ , a bolt of hot, searing pain slices across his ass. Jack groans. Gabe whips him again. Jack cries out and squeezes his eyes shut. Gabe whips him a third time. Jack stifles a hoarse yell, panting and almost foaming through his teeth. His ass is on fire with agony, tender and tingling and raw. The edge of the dresser is still digging into his cock. He pushes his face against the cold mirror to steady himself. Just as he does, he feels something smooth sliding against his neck. Gabe’s belt. Jack opens his eyes as it constricts around his throat. Gabe has pulled the end through the metal loop and is holding it like a leash.

Jack sees his cock drool in the mirror. His head feels light already, though he can still breathe normally. He hears Gabe unzipping his fly with his other hand. He looks into Jack’s eyes in the mirror and flashes those teeth again, then he sits down in the chair and yanks Jack backward with the belt.

“Spread your legs,” he barks. “Wider.”

Jack is standing over him with his legs slightly bent, straddling Gabe’s spread knees. He looks in the mirror and sees Gabe’s exposed cock between his legs, hard and thick, veins bulging. Gabe spits into his hand and strokes it.

“Sit on my cock.” He says. He pulls the belt tighter, dragging Jack down into his lap. “Look at me.”

Jack meets Gabe’s fierce gaze in the mirror as he penetrates him from behind, pushing him down onto his cock, all the way to the base. Jack cries out with the intense pressure and pain of the receiving it so abruptly, but Gabe strangles the cry with the belt. He lets it go slack again.

“Touch yourself,” he says. “Watch yourself while I fuck you.”

Jack sees himself in the mirror, legs spread wide, chest and face flushed, a black strip of leather gripping his neck like a collar. He sees his cock, rigid and swollen, bouncing as Gabe thrusts into him. He watches his hand taking his own cock and stroking it, as if he’s seeing it from the outside. Like he’s watching a stranger. His chest heaves and his muscles contract and shake. Gabe yanks the belt tight. Jack’s head lolls back and spots creep into his vision. His lungs burn and scream for air, but the belt is choking him. His hands reach up and claw uselessly at it.

“Come,” Gabe snarls, thrusting viciously. “Come now.”

Jack’s vision goes black as he comes. His entire body racks and seizes with the force of his ejaculation, magnified to an almost unbearable intensity by the oxygen deprivation. He loses a second. Then air bursts into his lungs. He thinks he is falling forward and throws his hands out to catch himself, but he’s only disoriented from losing consciousness. He is lying back against Gabe’s chest and Gabe is fucking him. Holding his waist and pounding him with that massive cock. Jack’s head buzzes and swims. The belt is hanging loose around his neck. Gabe’s teeth sink into his shoulder and he groans low and deep. He gives a last, sharp thrust and holds it. Jack feels Gabe’s cock convulsing and throbbing inside him as he comes.

Gabe is panting and wrapping Jack up in his powerful arms. He laughs and kisses Jack’s shoulder as he pulls the belt off his neck and drops it on the floor. Jack turns his head and buries his nose in Gabe’s hair.

“That was—that was the hottest sex I’ve ever had,” Gabe puffs between his ragged breaths. “Jesus. I thought I was going to die, I fucked you so hard.”

“Mmmmm,” Jack says into Gabe’s warm scalp. Then, “Gabe, let’s take a bath.”

Jack lifts himself off Gabe’s cock. Milky, viscous fluid gushes out of him and drips onto the floor. He’s embarrassed by it, for some reason, but Gabe is excessively pleased.

“Fuck, baby,” he says. “Look how much you made me come. That’s so fucking hot. And look what you did.”

He points to the mirror. Sure enough, It’s spattered all over with evidence of Jack’s own ejaculation. Jack takes a step toward it on wobbly legs, and Gabe just catches him before he falls.

“Ok, cariño, lie down.”

Jack drops face down onto the bed and lies there basking in the afterglow as Gabe starts the bath water. He is dozing when he feels Gabe sit beside him. He strokes Jack’s back with his fingertips, raising goosebumps all over his body.

“Wake up, Jack,” he says. “It’s time for your bath.”

Jack rolls over and smiles dreamily up at him. “I wasn’t asleep. I was thinking about you. That was…I never knew sex could be so…intense.”

“Neither did I,” Gabe says, looking down into those blue, blue eyes. “It’s never been like that for me before.”

“Really?” Jack asks softly.

“Really.” Gabe says. Then he grins broadly. “I told you you were a five-star piece of ass. Come on, let’s get in that tub.”

As large as the Jacuzzi tub is, it turns out to be less than ideal for two muscular men, both of whom are over six feet tall. They get into it rather awkwardly, making the water brim up and spill over the side. Jack sits cross-legged and lets Gabe massage his shoulders for a little while, but their limbs are cramped and they quickly give up and make a play of washing each other in the shower. Jack is sleepy and inclined to giggle as Gabe touches his body, which Gabe pretends annoys him. When they are clean and dry, Jack lies naked on the bed and reads the room service menu.

“Jack,” Gabe says, pulling on his black underwear, “there is no way you’re still hungry.”

“I’m not hungry, but I want something sweet. Let’s order desserts and watch something trashy on TV.”

“Ok,” Gabe says. “But only because it’s your birthday and you didn’t get a cake.”

“You worried I’ll lose my figure?”

“Not a chance. But I am worried you’ll overeat and make yourself ill.”

“I’m not a child, Gabe,” Jack says indignantly. “Oh, look! They make banana splits!”

“Not a child indeed,” Gabe says, crossing his arms.

“What do you want?”

“A banana split, obviously.”

“Ha! I knew it,” Jack says triumphantly.

He picks up the phone and makes the order, then begins to hunt for the remote control for the large television across from the bed.

“Jack, get something on before the bellhop comes and sees you in all your natural glory.”

Jack pouts, but complies, putting on a plush bathrobe he finds hanging in the closet. Their desserts arrive and Gabe finds the remote. He flips through channels till they land on a western musical called “Paint your Wagon” starring a young Clint Eastwood and a perennially grizzled Lee Marvin.

Gabe finishes his split, but Jack only gets about halfway through his before his head begins to droop. Gabe takes the dish gently from his hands and sets it on the night table. He pulls off Jack’s bathrobe and sits back down, leaning against the headboard. Jack draws the covers up over himself and lays his head on Gabe’s chest, drifting off to sleep to the strains of “They Call the Wind Maria,” with the titular name pronounced “Mariah.”


	7. Nothing

At eight o’clock on Monday morning, Major Morrison takes his usual place at his desk in the front and center of Major Andreev’s classroom. Andreev eyes the boy suspiciously. What’s different about him? It’s his clothes. He’s spent two weeks wearing white t-shirts and that Navy-blue windbreaker to class, and today he shows up in a black t-shirt and a grey goddamn hoodie like some sort of thug. Like Reyes. And what’s Reyes doing here on time? Is everyone going insane from the Kansas boredom? The older man raises an eyebrow and shakes his head, lamenting that there is no longer a KGB to investigate their abnormal behavior.

“Alright, gentlemen,” he says to the class. “This is our last week, so it’s time to put what you’ve learned into practice. The class will be dividing into four teams of six. Together with your teams, you will nominate a leader, form a strategy, and both attack and defend a target objective. The objective is the kill house on the training range. I suggest you familiarize yourselves with it and the surrounding terrain.”

He hands a stack of papers to the man on the end of the row, who passes them around.

“These are your instructions. Read them carefully. Army men, if you can’t understand the instructions, grab an Air Force man and have him read them to you. The winning team will be decided by successful defense of the objective, time taken to secure the objective, adherence to the principles you’ve learned, and number of captures. No weapons are allowed, obviously. You will be using only the techniques I’ve taught you.”

A Navy man raises his hand.

“Yes, Lawson.”

“Sir, what’s the incentive for the winning team?”

“Ah, a man who knows his priorities. I have arranged with your respective COs to grant the members of the winning team an extra week of leave to be used any time, at your CO’s discretion, within the next twelve months.”

The class erupts with enthusiasm. Jack studies his paper and raises his hand.

“Morrison.”

“Sir, how will the teams be assigned?”

“Excellent question,” Andreev says. “Since choosing your team wisely forms part of your strategy, you will be organizing into teams yourselves. If you can’t reach a decision, I will assign whoever is left over, but I’ve never had to do it before, so don’t be the first class to fuck up. I suggest that you talk with each other during your lunch break. After lunch, your team leader will enter your names on the sign-up sheet. If I were some of you, I’d get to work bribing the more skilled men in the class. Class won't be meeting as usual tomorrow or Wednesday. Use that time wisely. It's the only prep you're going to get. We'll meet here Thursday morning and the mayhem will commence.”

Egret, who is sitting next to Jack, nudges him with his elbow and grins. Jack returns the smile, though he’s not certain what is meant by it.

“Any other questions before we move on to review?” their instructor asks. “Good. Let’s get to work.”

Jack has his lunch tray in his hands and is looking for an empty table. He sees Egret with the other Marines waving to him from across the room. He hasn’t taken two steps in that direction, when a huge bass voice, dripping with a Southern drawl, booms through the crowded mess.

“Maw-sun!” it demands.

Jack realizes he’s being addressed. He turns. It’s the towering, black, barrel-chested Army Captain who is always with Gabe’s posse. Lanier is his name. He’s standing up at the table that contains Gabe and the other Army men and beckoning to Jack. Jack looks sheepishly over at Egret, then approaches the Army table.

“Move aside fellas,” Lanier says. “Let the man sit. Jesus. Folks ain’t got no common courtesy these days.”

Jack meets Gabe’s eye, and sees that he is grinning wickedly. Jack sits uneasily and looks around at the Army men.

“What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

“Listen, Maw-sun,” Lanier says, “We been talkin’, and we wanted to ask you, well, what I’m gettin’ at is we want you on our team.”

“You—you want me to be on your team for the exercise?” Jack says.

All five men nod.

“Why me, though,” Jack says, perplexed. “There are two other Army men in our class.”

“Forget them dudes. They ain’t nothin’,” Lanier says. “It ain’t no secret you the best man in the bunch. We want to win this little wingding and we think the way to do that is to have you on our side.”

“What do say, Major?” Gabe says. “Will you be our sixth?”

“Yeah, ok,” Jack says. “I’ll be on your team. Thanks, guys.”

“Not at all,” Lanier says, smiling warmly. “We’re happy to get you. I seen them Marines eyeballin’ you as you come by, so I thought I best cut in ‘fore they scooped you up.”

Jack is surprised by how pleasant and affable the men are. He’d always thought of Army men as rather rough and unfriendly, but these men are easy in their manner and make him feel almost immediately like one of the group.

“Hey, Morrison,” one says. His name is Townshend. “Reyes says you’ve led units in combat.”

“Yeah, I have,” Jack replies. “In Rwanda and the Central African Republic.”

“No shit!” Townshend says. “That’s the fuckin’ real deal, man. Respect.”

“Thank you.”

The conversation carries on in this convivial way until it’s time to head back to class. Jack walks with the Army group, and finds himself by Gabe’s side. Gabe jostles him.

“Welcome to the Army, Jack,” he says.

“Thanks,” Jack grins.

“By the way, nice shirt. Where’d you get it?”

“Borrowed it from a friend.”

“Looks good,” Gabe says. “You should keep it.”

When they return from lunch, the team sign-up sheet is posted on the whiteboard. The class has forsaken their regular seats, and are standing about in knots and clusters, excitedly discussing their team arrangements. Much to the consternation of the other Marines, Jack and the five Army men sit together, talking quietly and ignoring the general commotion.

“Thirty minutes, gentlemen,” Andreev calls out over the din. “Morrison, I see you’ve got your team already. You want to come enter your names?”

Jack looks at Lanier and Gabe, who nod their approval.

“Yes sir,” Jack says.

He goes up to the paper and writes their names in the space provided.

Leader: Morrison. Team: Campos, Huell, Lanier, Morrison, Reyes, Townshend.

As they leave class for the day, Jack catches Egret.

“Hey, sorry about that,” he says. “I couldn’t really say no to them, you know?”

“No sweat,” Egret says. “It’s just an exercise. But, Morrison, listen. You might want to be careful about hanging around with Reyes.”

“Reyes? Why?”

“There are some…rumors about him.”

“Like what?” Jack asks, unable to entirely conceal his anxiety.

“Well, that he’s kind of…a troublemaker. The other Army guys, the ones who aren’t in your group, they say he’s been under reprimand a couple of times for insubordination. They say that’s why he got denied that position at the SOG.”

Jack is palpably relieved. “The SOG?”

“Yeah. Tremblay says he got the call this morning before class and he went fucking ballistic.”

“Oh,” Jack says.

“Anyway, I’ll catch up with you later, man. I have to meet with my team. Just be careful, ok?”

“Alright, Egret. I will. Thanks.”

“No problem. See you Thursday.”

Jack goes to his room to drop his things from class and think about what to do next. His impulse is to talk to Gabe right away. Despite the man’s casual attitude about the potential post, Jack knows it was something he had wanted very much. He texts him.

Jack: Hey, where are you?

Jack waits five minutes for a response, and receiving none, decides to go to Gabe’s room. He is the leader of their team now, so he has every legitimate reason to be seeking the man out. Gabe’s room is at the far end of the hall, through a little breezeway that connects two adjoining buildings. Jack finds his door and knocks. No answer. He’s turning to go, when Campos steps out of a door a couple down from Gabe’s and greets him as he passes.

“Hey, Major,” he says. “You looking for Reyes?”

“Yeah, you know where he is?”

“Him and Lanier went down to the smoking patio about a half hour ago. They might still be there.”

“Thanks,” Jack says, and departs.

Jack enters the smoking patio and sees Gabe sitting alone on a picnic table with his feet on the bench. He’s drawing on a cigarette and blowing a thick, white plume of smoke into the air. He sees Jack and nods. Jack crosses the concrete and takes a seat beside him on the table.

“Hey,” he says. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

“I do when I need to,” Reyes replies. “What’s up?”

There’s a warning chill in his voice, but Jack refuses to be deterred.

“I heard,” he says. “I’m really sorry, Gabe. But why didn’t you say anything earlier? You seemed fine today.”

“Seeming fine is what people do when they don’t want their personal business to become everyone’s business.”

“Did they say why?”

“No.”

“That’s awful. I’m sorry.”

Gabe shrugs and puffs his cigarette. “Well. Fuck it.”

Jack sits silently with his friend for a while. Then he says, “It was important to you, though.”

“Yeah. It was important to me, Jack. Thank you for reminding me.”

“Gabe, come on. I’m trying to be supportive, here.”

“I don’t need you to be supportive, Jack. Nothing you can say is going to change the fact that I just got rejected for a job that I’ve wanted for years and have been directing my entire career toward getting. My life is fucked and your support can’t unfuck it.”

Jack looks at the ground. “I’m sorry, Gabe. I—this isn’t my business. I got ahead of myself and I crossed the line.”

He gets up and starts to walk away.

“Jack, wait,” Gabe says.

“No, I better go. I'll see you later.” He retreats quickly, not giving Gabe another chance for a response.

Gabe sits sullenly finishing his cigarette. He lights another one. Jack’s repetition of his own phrasing stings him. The sting quickly transforms into anger.

 _Got ahead of himself_ , he thinks. _I’ll fucking show him getting ahead of himself. We fuck a few times and he thinks he can come out here and act like he’s my fucking boyfriend. Trying to support me. I don’t need his fucking support. He’s just a fuck. Just a couple days and then we won’t see each other again. The I'll live my life, and he'll live his. He’ll probably get married and have a bunch of kids._

He tries to enjoy imagining Jack living in some Iowa suburb, tied down to a fat wife and three or four snotty brats. He tries, but all he can think about are those blue, blue eyes. Those open, eager lips. That soft little groan. That heavy blonde head lying on his chest. He’s just a fuck, he reminds himself. He’s done this before, and it’s nothing special. Jack is nothing special. Nothing.


	8. Something

Jack walks briskly back to his room, still smarting from Gabe’s response to his offer of sympathy. He isn’t sure why he should feel hurt, though. Gabe hasn’t said anything cruel or even untrue. He has experienced a severe disappointment that will, no doubt, have an impact on his career. Jack’s support will have little to no effect on this situation. So what was it that had cut Jack so deeply? He decides that it must have been the rejection. Yes, that was it. The rejection had hurt. It had hurt because it had felt as if the man were saying that his sympathy was not worth having.

He wonders why he wants his sympathy to be worth having. The conclusion he reaches is that he has made himself very frankly and openly vulnerable to Gabe, and his expectation has been that Gabe would reciprocate in some way. But he hasn’t. The only moment at which something like that has surfaced was at the table in the Lydian Lounge, when Gabe said he liked him and had wanted to make him happy on his birthday. Otherwise, he has kept himself entirely closed to Jack. Refusing to talk about his life or his family, even after Jack had offered much in that vein.

He decides that he has mistaken sexual intimacy for emotional intimacy, and chides himself for making such a juvenile error. He promises himself that he will be more careful in the future, and attempts to consider the matter closed. He can’t. He has worked it out to a satisfactory sum, but his conclusion does not soothe him. The warm, tight feeling in his chest has been replaced by a cold, hollow ache. But he is due to meet with the team and assign roles for the exercise, so he swallows his misery and goes back to work.

When Jack arrives at Captain Lanier’s room, he is all business. The first task is to assess each man’s experience and strengths, and to assign them positions. Jack designates Campos as the scribe, and gives him a legal pad and some pens. The pages are divided into two columns, labeled “Assault” and “Defense.” Jack listens as each man gives a rundown of his experience and specialties, as well as his general impression of his ability to employ Major Andreev’s tactics.

They decide that Lanier and Campos will act as the assault element, breaching initially and clearing each area. Morrison and Reyes will act as the support element, peeling off the stack to clear additional footholds, and to respond to any contingencies that arise. Townshend and Huell have the least combat experience, so they will act as the security element, peeling off to hold positions once they have been cleared. Jack considers this for a moment, then changes his mind.

“Lanier,” he says, “I’d like you and Huell to switch. I want you on security.”

“Sure thing, chief,” the titan of a man says, “but what’s your reasonin’?”

“Well, everyone here is experienced in breach and clear tactics. If they’re smart, they’ll try to distract the assault element with a big show up front, while they have their best men flank around and try to take out our security from behind. You’re a pretty good deterrent to that kind of thing, Lanier.”

“Cause I’m built like a brick shithouse?” Lanier laughs. “That’s fair enough, chief.”

“Good. Huell, are you ok with going assault on this one?”

“I am, chief,” Huell says. “But why don’t you and Reyes take assault? You’re the best men we have.”

“It’s _because_ we are,” Jack says frankly. “Reyes and I have the most experience with this kind of thing in real-life situations. The team will need to rely on our instincts. The two of us are best equipped to respond to a changing situation, in case they pull any surprises. And we need to be in a flexible enough position to support the assaults or the securities, depending on what comes up.”

Reyes nods in agreement. Jack sees this out of the corner of his eye, since he can’t quite bring himself to look the man in the face here in the presence of all his Army buddies.

“On to defense,” Jack says, as Campos furiously scribbles notes. “I want to try something a little different.”

After assigning defensive roles, and following a brief discussion of Jack’s defense strategy, the team plans to meet at the kill house tomorrow at 0800 to go over the structure and its surrounding terrain, since this will greatly inform their actual plan of action. As the meeting breaks up, the men invite Jack to join them for dinner tonight, but he politely declines, pleading a need for rest. He doesn’t look at Gabe during any of this interchange, but from the corner of his eye, he can see that Gabe’s eyes are fixed very determinedly on anything but him. He walks back to his room feeling more wretched and despondent than ever.

_Four days_ , he thinks. _Four days and I’ll never see him again. What a waste of this little bit of time we have_.

He had told Gabe they should make the most of it. This is not what he had meant. He lies down on his bed and sighs. Maybe it’ll be easier this way. Break it off now, on a sour note, rather than separate on good terms and then wonder if it could have been—no. He throttles that thought immediately. The man introduced himself by beating him to a pulp, and then fucking him in a communal shower. This isn’t how it happens. This isn’t how something begins that means anything. This is how you have a casual fuck while you’re away from your everyday life, knowing that it’s time-limited and that afterward, you can return home with no obligations clinging to you. No consequences. Nothing. But it isn’t nothing.

He feels the strap constricting around his neck again. That wasn’t nothing. He feels Gabe’s hot breath on his throat as he infuses his blood with the words, “You’re mine. All mine.” That was certainly not nothing. That was… _something_.

But men say things they don’t mean in the heat of passion. Men other than Jack, that is. When he’d finally fucked Ashley Reid, his girlfriend through all of high school, he hadn’t said anything he didn’t mean. That was why she cried and threw his letterman’s jacket into the pool. She said “I love you” and he didn’t say it back. In retrospect, he knows he should have lied. It was cruel to tell her that he hadn’t said it because he didn’t mean it. But he had been seventeen years old, and had truly thought he was doing the right thing. He hadn’t wanted to have sex with her in the first place. But she had insisted that it was what people did who had been together so long and she was beginning to suspect he didn’t even think she was pretty at all and maybe he preferred that slut Kelsey Vogel. So he had sex with her. She said the words. He didn’t. She cried.

Jack’s brow knits as he reflects on the situation. He hasn’t really thought about it before, but it was almost the exact same thing as had happened later with each of his two college girlfriends. He had sex with them, they said “I love you,” he did not say it back, they cried, and personal items belonging to him were punished for their owner’s misbehavior. Mariana had thrown his telephone into the fountain on the quad, and Joelle had attempted to set fire to his car. Campus security had stopped her before she actually got the vehicle alight, but his car stank like kerosene for weeks.

Why would someone be so…fuck. For the first time in his life, he feels empathy for those women. Not concerned sympathy. He has always felt that for them. But real, in the gut, in-their-shoes empathy. That is what happened to him today. He was placed in their position. In essence, he’d said “Gabe, I care about you” and Gabe had said “Jack, I do not care about you.” He can’t help feeling crushed. Not so much in pain, as flat and deflated. Like all the breath has gone out of his lungs.

He tries to concentrate on his strategy for the assault exercise, but he finds his mind wandering far astray. He tries harder, and grows agitated and restless. He looks at his phone. It’s only 20:31. He grows angry with himself for allowing this petty emotional distress to affect his mind. He’s a Major in the United States Marine Corps, and he’s acting like a god damned teenage girl. And over what? Some man he met two weeks ago and who has fucked him three times. So, nothing. Nothing.

But it isn’t nothing. His mind returns to the same refrain, repeating it as if it is a mantra. It isn’t nothing. It’s… _something_.


	9. Gabby

Jack stands in the crisp, clear light of the early October morning, assessing the target location. A few of the other teams are milling about the place as well, talking in low voices, gesturing, nodding, taking notes. But Jack is standing perfectly still, staring like he’s in a trance. Internally, he’s in a flurry of activity. He takes in the scene in a series of rapid snapshots and turns them in his mind, forming an entire, three-dimensional model in his head, which he will use for reference later. The walls, the doors, the size and shape of the structure, the slope of the ground, the dense, scrubby underbrush that creeps up within ten yards or so of the objective. He kneels down and lays his palm on the ground. Dry, sandy soil. There’s a little grassy hillock to the north, inclining up into a copse of sparse trees. It’s quiet out here. In the distance, he can here a drill commander making marching calls.

“Hey, chief,” Lanier’s voice startles Jack and he jumps to his feet. The mountain quakes with laughter. “Didn’t scare ya, did I, chief?”

“Ha, Lanier,” Jack grins, “a little, yeah. I got wrapped up in my thoughts.”

“So, what do you think?”

“Looks good,” Jack says. “It’ll work.” He turns to the others, who are waiting patiently a few paces back. “Let’s go in and have a look around.”

The kill house, or shoot house, as it’s called when it’s used for live-arms training, is a large, roofless structure consisting of thick concrete walls which are painted a drab green on the outside. There is no gate, but there is a gap between the walls in the south side, wide enough for a LAV to drive through. They pass into a narrow courtyard flanked on the left and right by single-story rooms. On the far end, there is a rectangular, multi-story rise with windows looking down on the courtyard. Jack glances at Campos and smiles. The man is drawing a grid and making a rough map of the layout. Jack starts to say good work, when he catches a whiff of cigarette smoke wafting through the morning air.

“What the fuck?” Jack says, “Who’s smoking?”

Campos looks up and jerks his head toward the gate. Jack turns. Gabe has not joined the group. He’s leaning on the wall that forms one side of the entry and smoking a cigarette. Jack opens his mouth to call out to him, but Lanier’s big bass interrupts him.

“Reyes!” he booms. “Put that shit out and get over here. Fuck is wrong with you, man?”

To Jack’s astonishment, Gabe immediately snuffs the cigarette and rejoins the group. He would have expected a entirely different response. But he doesn’t have time to think about it now.

“Alright, let’s take a look,” he says. “I want everyone’s eyes on every inch of the building. Look out for any choke points, areas that provide heavy cover or are particularly exposed, that kind of thing. Take pictures with your phones, if that’ll help you remember, ok?”

With a chorus of, “Got it, chief,” the group disperses throughout the area. Jack smiles at their adoption of the title, which Lanier had begun.

 

As they walk the half-mile back to the barracks, Jack finds himself laughing and chatting pleasantly with his team. He is growing to like these men more and more. They are clever and constantly engaging in banter with one another, and appear to have a camaraderie that reaches beyond the bounds of simply being in the same service. These are good men. He’s sorry they’ll lose touch after the class ends and they all go back to their own posts. He feels a sharp pang at the thought and glances up at Gabe, who is walking a bit ahead with Lanier. They are talking together and smiling. Jack wonders what the relationship between the two battle-scarred warriors could be, to make Gabe respond as he had to Lanier’s chastisement, and then be chatting amiably with him a little while later.

His curiosity is not left long without its satisfaction. After lunch, there is a knock at his door, and he opens it to find the towering captain standing in the hall.

“Hey chief, you got a minute?”

“Sure, Lanier, come on in.” The man enters and Jack offers him a seat in the chair at his desk. He nods and sits.

“Listen, chief,” he says. “I wanna apologize for Reyes. He got no right to disrespect you like that. Specially not in front of the other men.”

“It’s no problem, Lanier,” Jack says. “I didn’t take any offense.”

“But I did. Him actin’ out that way makes us all look bad.”

“He seemed to take your correction pretty well.”

“Yeah, well, it ain’t the first time I had to remind him of his manners.”

“You know each other, then?”

“Yeah, we both at Fort Hood. We used to be in the same unit, but now we commandin’ separate teams. He’s still my friend, though.”

“You were in the same unit?”

“Yeah. Look, chief, Reyes got some issues. He got fucked up when he was a kid and he can’t keep a grip on himself sometimes. But he’s a good man. He’s the reason my baby daughter has a daddy.”

“He is?” Jack asks, sitting down on the edge of his bed. “What do you mean?”

“Few years ago, when we was in Afghanistan, we was buddies. I got shot in the thigh and belly. Reyes stormed in with no regard to his own life, and dragged me out under heavy fire. He took a bullet doin’ it, too. I’ll never forget it. I named my baby daughter Gabrielle, after him. We call her Gabby.” The man’s big, stern features light up and he laughs softly. “Boy, she loves her uncle Gabe.”

Jack is utterly astonished. He cannot imagine Gabriel Reyes as the adored uncle of a sweet little girl.

“Holy shit,” he says, laughing. “Uncle Gabe, huh?”

“Yeah, that’s right. Look, there they are last Christmas.”

The man takes out his phone and shows Jack a picture of a smiling Gabe holding a lovely, curly-headed little girl, around the age of seven or eight, in his big arms. She’s wearing a frilly purple dress and she’s holding a floppy doll against Gabe’s scarred face as if the doll is giving him a kiss.

“She’s beautiful, Lanier. What a great picture.”

“Ain’t it? Reyes ain’t as hard and badass as he thinks. Gabby just owns him. You should see him hop to when she calls.”

“That would be worth seeing.”

“He’s pretty broke up about that Special Ops Group thing not comin’ through, but Gabby’ll be over the moon he ain’t goin’ away like we thought.”

“Is it true that he’s been under reprimand?” Jack asks. “Someone said something about that being the reason.”

“Man, folks ain’t got no call to be speakin’ out of school like that. He ain’t been under any reprimand. Some bitch lieutenant colonel picked a fight with him and he kicked the dude’s ass. He didn’t get charged with nothin’ but they sent him on leave till the LT’s transfer come through.”

“Picked a fight with him?”

“Yeah. Gabe called him on some wrong shit he said one too many times and the dude lost it. Socks him right in the face. Gabe just laughs and dares him to do it again. He tries, and Gabe lays him out cold. It was pretty god damn funny.”

Jack smiles, but he’s not sure he thinks of a fistfight between officers as particularly comical.

“Anyway,” Lanier says, rising to go. “I just wanted to tell you…I hope y’all work it out.”

Jack’s heart nearly stops. He can’t find his voice to answer for a few seconds.

“What—what do you mean?” he chokes out at last.

“I know you know what I mean, chief. I ain’t gonna say it out, seein’ as you’d be legally bound to deny it. I just hope y’all work it out is all. I think you’d do him some good.”

Jack’s hand trembles as he shakes the man’s gigantic paw.

“Thanks, Lanier,” he says quietly. “You’re a good friend.”

“I aim to be,” Lanier says, grinning as he exits Jack’s room.

Jack’s heart is pounding and his knees are wobbly. He falls into the chair his teammate just vacated. This is too much to process. Too much to try to understand. The vivid picture of Gabe that his friend has painted is completely different to the one Jack had formed in his mind. And what he’d said. He hopes they work it out? Has Gabe been talking to this man about their…interactions? If so, what does that mean? His stomach is tight with anxiety. He needs to get out of here and think. He stuffs his phone in his pocket, opens his door, and almost runs headfirst into Gabe.


	10. Three Days

Jack stands frozen in the doorway, uncertain what to do. He can’t read Gabe’s face. It looks sullen and somewhat tired, but gives no other indication of his state of mind.

“Can I come in?” Gabe asks.

Jack steps aside for him to enter, then shuts the door and looks at him, waiting.

“Jack,” he says. “I wanted to…” He pauses and looks about him anxiously, as if he’s expecting to find something he has misplaced. “I wanted to ask you if you’re sure about putting Huell on assault. I don’t think he’s prepared to handle that position.”

Jack’s face flushes with anger. “You wanted to question my decisions? That’s why you came here? You couldn’t have talked to me about this at lunch or over the phone?”

“Use your brain, Boyscout,” Gabe snaps. “How could I talk to you about it at lunch right in front of him?”

“You could have called.”

“Why would I use the telephone when your fucking room is literally a hundred feet from mine?”

“You’re right. Thank you for your input, Captain Reyes. I’ll take it under advisement. Is that all?”

Gabe’s eyes blacken and his nostrils flare. “Yeah. That’s all.”

“Good. Now you listen to me. You’ve been a spectacular asshole to me for the past twenty-four hours. If you want to treat me like shit on our own time, you’re free to do that. But when it starts effecting how you behave toward me in front of the other men, then you’re over the line. It’s unacceptable and unprofessional. Like it or not, I’m your superior officer, here.”

Gabe’s eyes narrow to snakelike slits. “Sorry, sir,” he sneers through gritted teeth. “It won’t happen again.”

Jack turns away. “Then I guess we’re done here.”

“I guess we are.”

He hears Gabe move toward the door. A second passes. Two seconds.

“No,” Gabe says.

Jack turns back to face him. “Excuse me?”

“I said no. You don’t get to dismiss me like I’m just some subordinate. You are going to let me explain myself.”

Jack crosses his arms impatiently. “Well?”

“I’ve been an asshole, yeah. But I was wrecked when I got the rejection from the SOG. Then you came and added insult to injury by humiliating me with your pity.”

“Humiliating you with my pity?” Jack says incredulously. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to talk about it with you. I didn’t even want you to know about it. It wasn’t your business to come rub it in my face that way.”

“Rub it in your—Gabriel, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“How long do you have?”

“Three days,” Jack says icily.

Gabe’s cheeks flush as well. His eyes are alight with that black fire.

“That’s exactly it,” he says. “Three days. We have three days until we never—” he breaks off momentarily, making a sound as if he’s clearing his throat, “—never see each other again. I don’t need you getting involved in my life like you’re my fucking boyfriend.”

“But you’re perfectly alright with fucking me like I am. Just so I’m clear on the rules. I’m allowed to suck your cock, but I’m not allowed to care about you, even in the basic, human way that friends care about each other, is that what you’re saying?”

“We’re not friends!”

Jack stands silent for a moment, smarting with this brutal riposte.

“I…I suppose we aren’t,” he says quietly. “Thank you…for letting me know where we stand, Gabe.”

“I can’t do this with you, Jack,” Gabe replies in a flat, expressionless voice. “I can’t be your friend. I can’t let you do this to me.”

“Let me do this to you?” Jack fires back, immediately on the defensive. “What am I doing to you, Gabe? What the fuck do you mean by that? If I recall, you’re the one who began all of this. I didn’t ask you to fuck me in the shower.”

Gabe drops into the chair by Jack’s desk and massages his eyes with the palms of his hands.

“Jack, you’re all I think about day and night,” he says. His tone is suddenly altered. He sounds weary. Almost petulant. “You’re inside me—in my blood. I have to protect myself somehow. I have to get you out of me before you yank yourself free and take a big, bleeding chunk of me with you.”

“Gabriel…”

“Jack, I am a fucking arrogant prick. I don’t care about anything but myself. I am proud, selfish, bad-tempered, and cruel. I am not worthy of someone like you. I don’t deserve to shine your fucking boots. It’s just a matter of time till you figure that out for yourself and you hate me for what I’ve done to you.”

“What have you done to me?”

“I made you part of my…sickness. I dragged you down into the gutter with me and—”

“Gabriel, stop right now. Stop this. I will not hear it.” Jack’s eyes feel grainy they begin to sting forebodingly. “I will not hear you talk about what happened between us as a sickness. You can hate yourself for what you are, but you will not force that on me. Am I sick, Gabe? Am I suddenly a twisted, perverse deviant, just because I…because I want you?”

Gabe’s head drops into his hands. His voice comes out weak and muffled. “How could someone like you want someone like me?”

Jack crosses to Gabe and sits on the edge of his bed close to him, so their knees almost touch.

“Gabriel, look at me.”

Gabe lifts his head and meets Jack’s gaze. His face is pale and drawn. The fire has all gone out of those big, brown eyes. They’re quenched. Extinguished. In pain.

“I don’t know why I feel the way I do about you,” Jack says. “This is something entirely new to me. I never imagined I could have feelings like this for anyone, let alone another man. But I do. And it’s not sick. It’s not wrong. If you don’t want to be involved with me because it’s too complicated, or even if it was just a fuck and you’d prefer to be done with me, say that. I’m a big boy. I can take it. But don’t try to make me believe that it’s something to be ashamed of. Don’t hurt me that way, Gabriel.”

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Gabe says hoarsely. “I don’t want to hurt you. I was trying to make it easier for myself to—to lose you. I’ve been horrible and selfish and I fucked everything up.”

“You did,” Jack says, a little smile turning up the corners of his lips. “But it’s not too late to unfuck it. If you want to.”

He lays his hand on Gabe’s face and brushes his lips against the rough stubble on his cheek. Gabe’s eyes fall closed and he sighs. Jack rises and pulls him up out of the chair. He stands still, submitting himself meekly to being kissed and caressed and undressed, then made to lie down in Jack’s bed. He gazes at Jack’s lithe, muscular body as he undresses himself.

Jack kneels on the bed. Gabe’s eyes roll back and he groans low and soft as Jack’s hot, wet mouth covers the swollen, aching head of his cock. He’s excruciatingly hard. Desperate to be inside him. Jack’s searching mouth licks and teases him till he’s nearly out of his senses with desire. He runs his rough fingers through that silky blonde hair and shudders. Jack draws away. Gabe makes a low, plaintive sound and opens his eyes. Jack climbs over his legs and straddles his hips, taking his cock firmly in one hand. Gabe stares breathlessly into those incandescent blue eyes as Jack slowly lowers himself onto his thick, rigid shaft. Gabe’s abdominal muscles contract, he curls upward, reaching for Jack with both hands.

Jack laces their fingers together and grinds his hips, sliding up and down on Gabe’s cock. His own cock is stiff and ruddy and the head is slick with pre-ejaculate. He watches it bounce as he rocks on Gabe, taking him to the hilt, gasping with each impact as the head of Gabe’s cock strikes the extremity of his rectum. He grasps his cock and holds it tightly, but he doesn’t stroke it. He wants to come only from being penetrated. Gabe sees this and gives a low, approving growl. He takes Jack by the hips and thrusts harder. Jack’s head lolls back and he moans. Starts to shake. His insides clamp down on Gabe’s cock.

“Gabe, I’m going to—oh fuck, fuck, I’m coming! Ah—”

His cock throbs and spasms in his hand, spurting hot streaks onto Gabe’s stomach as he comes. Gabe grins ferociously and pounds his cock into him. Jack’s muscles are going slack and twitching with overstimulation. Gabe keeps thrusting, harder, faster, then he pushes his hips up forcefully, lifting Jack up off the bed, holding him there, impaled on that ruthless shaft as his ejaculation convulses violently inside him. Jack falls forward onto Gabe’s naked, perspiring skin and lays there panting. He’s suddenly aware that he’s lying in a pool of his own semen on Gabe’s stomach, mixed with both their sweat. This strikes him as intensely funny and he laughs.

“What’s so funny, cariño?”

“Sex,” Jack says. “It’s pretty gross, isn’t it? We’re literally covered in each other’s fluids.”

“I like having your sweat and come all over me.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. If I didn’t, it’d probably mean I was doing a pretty shitty job.”

“Well, put your mind at ease. You are drenched.”

“Mmm. So are you.”

“We’re both going to need showers before we meet the guys.”

“Shh. Showers can wait. Lie here with me for a while.”

“What time is it?”

“14:31.”

“We’ve got time then.”

Jack lays down beside him with his head on his shoulder and plays with the thick, curly black hairs on his chest. Gabe kisses his forehead and sighs. Then he laughs.

“Fuck,” he says. “I’m so fucked.”

“Yes,” Jack replies. “Yes you are.” He pauses, then he says, “Gabe, if this is all a scheme to convince me to take Huell off assault, then I hate to disappoint you, but it’s not going to work.”

“God damn it,” Gabe says. “You figured it out. It was such a good plan, too.”

“Gabe…why did you tell Lanier about us?”

“What?” Gabe says, taken aback. “Lanier? I didn’t tell him anything.”

“You didn’t?”

“Hand to god. What makes you think he knows?”

“He told me he knew.”

“How the fuck did he find out?”

“I assumed you told him. But if you didn’t, it’s not unimaginable that he’d figure it out. I mean, he knows you pretty well.”

“How do you know that? What the fuck has been going on?”

“He came here after lunch. He hadn’t been gone ten minutes when you showed up. I thought you knew he came.”

“I had no idea,” Gabe says. “That sneaky motherfucker. What did he say to you?”

“He told me you were a good man and that he owes you his life.”

“Well, one of those things is true.”

“And he told me he hoped we’d work it out. Said he thought I’d be good for you.”

“Oh, is that what he thinks?”

“And he showed me a picture of a very sweet little girl named Gabby and her uncle Gabe.”

“I guess I’m cashing in that life-debt, cause now I have to kill him.”

“Why do you want people to believe you’re so hard and isolated?”

“Because I am,” Gabe says. “At least, I’m trying to be. You’re not making it easy.”

“God damn right I’m not.”


	11. Assault and Defense

Morning on the day of the combat exercise doesn’t so much dawn as opens its eyes blearily, reaches out to hit its snooze button, and pulls the blankets back over its head. The sky is dismal with low, grey clouds and the air is still and stifling, heavy with the threat of rain. By the time the class boards the bus to the kill house, fat drops are beginning to splash the brims of their hats.

Major Andreev turns toward the back of the bus to take roll, squinting at the sea of operational camouflage (the men are in combat dress for the exercise) and attempting to tell who is who. Most of the men are subdued and disconsolate, muttering about mud and casting gloomy glances out the windows. Except, of course, for that Aryan master-race recruiting poster Morrison. He’s sitting two seats back from the front next to that hoodlum Reyes. At least Reyes has the decency to look as unpleasant as usual, though. Morrison is offensively chipper and alert, as if he’s totally oblivious to the weather that’s making everyone else miserable.

He’s leaning in close to Reyes and talking in a hushed, urgent tone as he points with his pen to different areas on the page of a legal pad. Reyes is examining it and nodding. He turns too meet Morrison’s eye and for the love of everything holy, he smiles, too. Jesus Christ, it’s spreading. Men like Morrison should be quarantined before their sunny sanguinity can infect others. The old major gives up on taking roll, counts twenty-four heads, and slides into his seat, shaking his head at some people’s lack of basic social graces.

When the class arrives at the kill house, they remain on the bus to review the procedure, since it’s now raining, as one of the men colorfully puts it, “like a cow pissing on a flat rock.” Andreev steps off the bus momentarily, and returns in the company of a slight, fresh-faced woman, about forty years of age, in Army combat dress. She’s wearing a drill-sergeant’s campaign hat with a plastic rain cover, and has sensibly thought to wear her poncho as well. She looks over the men, with a serious, but not unfriendly expression as Andreev introduces her.

“This is Sergeant First-Class Maddox. She will be observing today, and ensuring that all proper safety procedures are followed. These training grounds are her property. When you step off this bus, you are in her house. It goes without saying that you will treat Sergeant Maddox and her property with the utmost respect.”

Chorus of “yes, sir” from the men in the seats.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” the woman’s clear voice rings out. “I’m pleased to welcome another of Major Andreev’s classes to my kill house. I know you have been thoroughly briefed on the rules and procedures for today, but I am legally required to remind you, this is a tap-out exercise. That means that when you have been subdued by an opponent, you will tap out and proceed to the capture area. When you subdue an opponent, you will release him once he has tapped out and he will proceed to the capture area. Major Andreev and myself, and several of my assistants will be observing. If you are subdued, and do not tap out in a timely manner, one of us will tap you out and send you to the capture area. However, we may not be able to have eyes on you at all times. If you fail to tap out, and an opponent causes you to lose consciousness, or if you fail to recognize and opponent’s tap, and cause him to lose consciousness, both parties will be removed from the exercise. So don’t try to fuck each other over.” She grins broadly, “Other than that, let’s have a good, clean fight, and may the best team win.”

Chorus of “yes, ma’am,” and “thank you ma’am” from the class.

“Thank you Sergeant Maddox,” Andreev says. “Assault and defense will take place one after another, to keep things moving along, meaning that if you have just assaulted, you will have thirty minutes to prepare, and then you will defend. That means the team who defends first will be assaulting last. You’ll have to wait around for a long time, but it also gives you the opportunity to learn from other teams’ mistakes, and refine your strategy. Team leaders, write your names on these paper slips and pass them to the front. I will draw the first two teams at random, then the order will proceed from there.”

The paper slips are passed back and returned, and Andreev takes off his hat and drops them in. With the dramatic flair of a magician, he stirs them around and pulls one out.

“Alright, first attacking will be Egret and first defending will be…Buckwalter. Captain Buckwalter, you have thirty minutes to prepare. Let’s get moving.”

With some jostling and good-natured trash-talking between the men, Buckwalter’s team disembarks and they trot across the muddy lot into the arena. Egret’s team huddles together talking rapidly in low voices.

“Everyone else, you are free to stay on the bus, or to get out and spectate, provided you do not enter the perimeter of the kill house,” Andreev says. With that, he and Maddox disembark to follow the first defenders.

As the first teams prepare, the rain eases up considerably, and most of the men get out to stretch their legs and breathe the fresh air. Egret’s team is called and they take their positions. Jack’s team is still sitting together on the bus, deeply engrossed in their conversation, when there is a bustle of activity outside and muddy, rain-soaked men begin to enter the bus. Jack looks up questioningly.

“Ten minutes,” one of Buckwalter’s men says, shaking his head ruefully. “Took ‘em less than ten minutes to capture the point. Jesus, that sucked.”

O’Connor’s team is next on attack, and they move off to get into position. This time, Jack’s team pays attention. Ten minutes pass. Then twenty. At forty minutes, the end of the match is called. Egret’s team has successfully defended. That’s two points to them. Gabe, Jack, Lanier, Campos, Huell, and Townshend prepare themselves to attack. They are waiting about ten yards to the southeast of the gate, when a nagging little itch in Jack’s mind suddenly bursts into a full-blown epiphany.

“Guys,” he says, motioning them to close in. His voice is almost feverish with excitement. “Come here. Listen, we’ve been thinking about this all wrong. This isn’t a standard breach and clear and it’s not meant to be. We’re only supposed to be demonstrating that we can apply the fighting techniques that Andreev taught us. We’re not going into a stronghold full of armed radicals who want to blow us up. We’re going to a brawl. Scrap the stack. We’re going in Spartan style.”

“So, naked with swords?” Gabe smirks.

“Phalanx, Gabe,” Jack says. “Lanier, you’ll be the tip of the spear. Reyes and Campos next, Townshend and Huell next, and I’ll be the rearguard, just in case. We’re going to barrel through to the tower, use our momentum and the element of surprise to break right through without clearing any rooms, and then make them come to us. They’re no match for us in a face-to-face fight, so let’s make it one. If they don’t come to us, then we have secured the point. We win either way.”

“I’m with you, chief,” Lanier says. “Let’s do it.”

The beginning of the match is called, and Major Andreev is delighted and surprised to finally see something new at one of these tedious slogs. Morrison’s team, headed up by Lanier, the African-American juggernaut, form up into a tight, arrowhead-shaped phalanx. They’re through the courtyard before anyone knows what’s happening, and have burst into the tower so quickly, that the observers have to sprint to catch up with the action. O’Connor’s security men go in after them. One comes sailing out the door and lands at the instructor’s feet.

Andreev steps over him and enters the building to the sounds of scuffling feet, shouts, and something heavy hitting the floor above. He reaches the third floor in time to see Morrison being grappled from behind by the naval supertanker. Despite being over six feet tall and athletically built, Morrison is a good head and a half shorter than his opponent, and weighs a good sixty pounds less. Lighting quick, Morrison drops his weight, kicks a leg out behind the larger man’s leg, and uses his superior balance and the momentum of his body to knock the other man backward. At the same time, his elbow flies back into the man’s throat, stunning him and laying him flat on the ground. Morrison is on him like a wildcat. The man instantly throws his hands in the air and actually shouts the words, “Tap out!” much to the amusement of the others present. He sees the instructor standing over him and sits up.

“I think they got us, sir,” he pants. “Ow, fuck, my back. How long was that?”

“Four minutes. Maybe less,” Andreev says, helping the massive man to his feet. He looks around, confirming that the entire defense team has been subdued, and calls the end of the match. “Good job, Morrison.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jack replies, “but the credit belongs to my teammates.”

“Good job, men. You’ve got thirty minutes to prepare your defense,” the instructor says with a slight, almost undetectable smile. “If you need it.”

Buckwalter’s team, wet, uncomfortable, and demoralized from their earlier defeat, approach the kill house reluctantly. The rain is pouring down again, and it seems to be a cruel fate that has thrust them into the thresher of Morrison’s team of gladiators. Hope begins to dawn in their hearts as they clear the courtyard unaccosted, and are able to fight through the two men in the lower section of the tower.

But hope, sometimes a crueler mistress than despair, has misled them to their doom. They enter the upper room only to be caught between Campos and Lanier within, and Morrison and Reyes, who have somehow materialized behind them. They are trapped and defeat is certain, but they, too, are warriors. A band of brothers cast forlorn into a sea of enemies. They rally their courage for the final struggle, and they make a valiant effort to the bitter end. The entire thing takes about seven minutes.

Sergeant Maddox bids the bedraggled, mud-spattered men goodbye as they climb aboard their bus, laughing and recounting the best bits of each fight, and all eager to get home and have a long, hot shower. The winning team is obvious to everyone, but no one mentions it until the announcement is made. Then everyone applauds, to show there are no hard feelings, and the short ride back to the barracks is pleasant and cheerful.

Before the class disembarks, Andreev addresses them again.

“Good work today, gentlemen. Morrison, Lanier, Reyes, Campos, Townshend, and Huell, congratulations. Enjoy your extra leave. As you all know, the written examination is tomorrow.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “However, I don’t think I need an exam to tell me that all of you have sufficiently absorbed the techniques I’ve been teaching you. So, there will be no written exam. Enjoy your free day tomorrow, gentlemen. It’s been a pleasure working with you.”

The men erupt in enthusiastic cheers, and shake the old man’s hand heartily as they exit the bus. Andreev, of course, had no intention of giving a written exam and never has, but he finds he enjoys it much more, and the men do as well, when he holds it out to them as a reward at the end of the class. Besides, he might want to give one someday, so it’s good to keep in the habit of threatening it. All in all, the old major is satisfied with his class’s success. Especially Morrison. Who knew that fastidious Boyscout could be such a ruthless combatant.

“Kid’s got a bright future,” he says to himself. “I hope they don’t figure out he’s a queer.”


	12. Come With Me

Jack, for the first time since he’s been here at Leavenworth, heads to the showers with the other men. They are cold, wet, muddy, and exhausted, and in the genial glow of camaraderie and the elation of victory, it doesn’t even occur to him to be self-conscious or awkward. The team plans to meet for drinks at Calaveras Rojas to celebrate passing the course, and as it turns out, many of the other men in the class are doing the same. Most people’s doors are open and someone’s radio is playing bouncy pop music. The whole barracks has the air of a college dormitory the day before summer vacation.

Jack dresses, then steps over to 302a, to invite Egret along. Egret’s door is open as well, and he’s packing his things and humming along to the music echoing down the hall.

“Hey, Morrison,” he says, seeing the blonde Marine at the threshold. “Come in. What’s up?”

“Are you taking off tonight?” Jack asks.

“Nah, but I’m going to hit the road pretty early, so I thought I’d better get ready now.”

“Hey, a bunch of the guys are going to Calaveras Rojas to celebrate and hang out one last time. You should come with us, if you can.”

Egret looks confused. “You want me to come?”

“Of course. Why not?”

“I kind of…I kind of thought you didn’t like me.”

“What?” Jack says, taken aback. “Why would you think that?”

“Well, you ditched me that one night and let me think you had a date, but Tremblay saw you leaving the PX with Reyes. Then you didn’t want to be on our team, either. I figured I wasn’t…cool enough for you.”

“Cool enough?” Jack says, thoroughly bewildered. “For me?”

“Yeah, I mean, I’ve never been one of the cool guys, and I'm still not. I was a fat kid in high school, I didn’t have a girlfriend till I was twenty-two, all that. You were probably captain of the football team, dating the head cheerleader, and having the time of your life while guys like me envied you and kind of…hated you.”

“Hated me?” Jack repeats, as if he can’t fathom what the man is saying. “Why would you envy someone like me?”

Egret shakes his head and laughs. “Look at you. I’m a fucking bridge-troll compared to you. You, you’re…Captain America.”

Jack laughs uneasily and looks away, embarrassed by the comparison and the compliment it carries. He’s always been aware of a tendency in some other men to be competitive with him or even openly hostile, but he’s always assumed it was because they could tell there was something wrong with him. Like they knew instinctively that his brain didn’t work the way theirs did, and he was an easy target for ridicule. It has never occurred to him that any of it could be envy.

“Egret, I'm not…the way you seem to think,” he says. “I was the captain of the football team, and I did date the head cheerleader. But I did those things because I was told that’s what I was supposed to do, and I didn’t know any better. I was miserable playing football, and I hated my girlfriend. And all my friends. The military is the only place I’ve ever felt comfortable or been happy doing what I do. But I’m not one of the cool guys. In fact, I don’t really have any friends at all, let alone cool ones.”

“What about Reyes and those Army guys?”

“I suppose we have become friends,” Jack says thoughtfully. “Those guys are good men, though. Reyes sort of leads them around by the force of his personality, but just because he’s an asshole, doesn’t mean they all are.”

Egret laughs. “He is kind of an asshole.”

“He is, but don’t tell him I said so,” Jack grins. “I don’t want my face rearranged the day before I go home to see my parents. Come on, come with us.”

“Yeah, ok,” Egret says. “That sounds nice. Thanks, Morrison.”

“Jack.”

Egret smiles and holds out his hand. “Ben.”

“Ben, nice to meet you,” Jack says, shaking it warmly. “We’re getting some cabs over there around 2100. Come by my room and we’ll go together, ok?”

“Ok.”

Jack leaves his new friend’s room pleased, but still perplexed. He’s not sure if it’s something about the place or the circumstances, or himself, but he seems to be having his self-concept challenged at every turn on this short TDY. He tries to sort out the situation in his head, and finds that it all appears to come down to that single moment. The shower. It wasn’t the sex, so much as the kiss. That was the decision point. He’d allowed a man to kiss him. More than that, he’d kissed the man right back.

He lies down on his bed, reliving the kiss in frame-by-frame snapshots. Gabe is looking at him with those large, fierce brown eyes. A drop of water rolls out of his short black hair, down his forehead, and drips off the tip of his nose. His full, perfectly shaped lips move. Jack’s heart pounds and the blood roars in his ears. What did the man say?

“My cock.” His low voice thrums through Jack’s body. “Don’t touch it without permission.”

Jack stares up into those deep, dark eyes. He’s terrified. No. That’s the wrong word. He’s exhilarated. His heart is in his throat and his body is shaking with…not fear…anticipation. He opens his mouth. He draws a breath. He feels Gabe’s hot hand on the back of his neck. A fraction of a second before Gabe leans in to kiss him, Jack closes his eyes. His center of gravity shifts imperceptibly forward, toward the man, rather away from him. Contact. He feels Gabe’s lips cover his. His firm tongue caressing his own. The scratch of his rough stubble. His strong arms. His hard cock digging into his stomach just above the hip. He feels his knees buckle, feels Gabe catch him. The distant thunder of his laugh vibrates through Jack’s chest.

Lying in his bed, Jack sighs. He wants a kiss right now. Where is Gabe? As if the wish has summoned the man out of thin air, Gabe knocks on Jack’s door at that precise moment, opening it without waiting for a response from within.

“Hey, Major Morrison,” he calls loudly, for the benefit of anyone who might be listening, “can I talk to you a minute?”

“Sure,” Jack says, lifting his head from his pillow and grinning broadly. “What’s up, Reyes?”

Gabe shuts the door behind him and locks it.

Jack raises his eyebrows. “Can I help you, Captain Reyes?”

“Oh cariño, you’re lucky that mouth’s so pretty.”

He lowers his body onto Jack’s and pins his wrists above his head. Jack recedes from conscious reality, awash in a swift deluge of euphoria. He enters that plane of otherness that he has only recently discovered, and that he can only access when weighed down and restrained by Gabe’s powerful body. He moans softly in his throat as Gabe calls him back with a kiss. He releases one of Jack’s wrists and slides his hand under the waistband of his sweatpants. Jack gasps and twitches as Gabe takes hold of his fully erect cock.

“Mmmm,” Gabe growls into his ear. “Already hard for me? Such a good little whore.”

“Gabe, fuck me,” Jack says. “Fuck me now.”

Gabe holds Jack’s cock firmly. “So demanding.”

“Please, please fuck me,” Jacks pants, pushing his cock urgently into Gabe’s steady, unmoving hand.

“Seems like you want to fuck _me_.” He lets go of Jack’s cock and other wrist, and peels off his sweatpants and underwear. “Take off your shirt. I want to look at you.”

Jack contracts his abdominal muscles to curl himself up, and pulls the shirt off over his head. Gabe, still fully clothed, gazes at Jack’s smooth, muscular body, looking him up and down with the eye of an admiring connoisseur.

“Christ, you’re so beautiful,” he says.

Jack’s cheeks flush ever so slightly, which Gabe finds irresistibly charming. He grasps Jack’s cock in his hand again, and slides his thumb around the pre-ejaculate slicked opening, making Jack buck and shiver. Without any other warning, he lowers his head and puts his mouth on it.

“Oh fuck,” Jack gasps. “Oh—fuck. Fuck!”

Jack is dizzy with the overwhelmingly intense stimulation. Gabe is sucking his cock. Licking, teasing, and stroking it. Pulling on it with the suction of his hot, wet mouth. Jack trembles, strains, does everything in his power to resist the urge to thrust into Gabe’s mouth. Gabe withdraws.

“Do it,” he says. “Fuck my mouth.”

“Wh—what?” Jack sputters.

“You heard me,” Gabe says. “Fuck my mouth. Here, I’ll help you.”

He takes Jack’s hands and puts them on the sides of his head, then laps the swollen, throbbing head of Jack's cock with his tongue. Jack is shaking all over. His chest is flushed and he’s beginning to sweat. He dares a little thrust. Gabe hums approvingly and continues to suck him. He ventures a deeper thrust. Gabe gags as the head of Jack’s cock hits the back of his throat. Jack freezes.

“Don’t stop,” Gabe demands.

Jack hesitates for a tense instant. Fuck it. He grips Gabe’s hair tightly in his clenched fists and thrusts like he’s possessed, lifting his hips to drive his cock deeper and deeper into the other man’s mouth.

“Fuck, I’m—I’m going to come soon,” he pants. “Gabe, I’m going to—”

Gabe pulls away just long enough to say, “Come now. Come in my mouth.”

Jack comes. His eyes squeeze shut and he gives a long, shuddering groan as the excruciating pressure building in his cock explodes in a deep, aching ejaculation. It fills Gabe’s mouth and spills out. Gabe lifts his head, making a little grimace as he swallows it. There’s still some dripping down his chin. He looks Jack dead in the eye as he wipes it up with his finger and licks it off.

“Mmm, baby,” he says. “I like how you taste.”

“Gabe, don’t you want me to…” Jack pauses and looks away, feeling suddenly shy and exposed. “I mean, you didn’t—”

“Hush, cariño,” Gabe says. He climbs over Jack and relaxes his body onto him. Jack can taste his own salty semen on Gabe’s tongue as he kisses him. “Let me spoil you sometimes, ok?”

“Ok,” Jack says, with a sheepish smile. “I just…thank you.”

Gabe laughs and rolls onto his back. He watches Jack get up, stretch his body languidly, and begin to dress. A strange expression, somewhat akin to pain, flickers across his severe features, but only for an instant. By the time Jack turns to look at him, he’s wearing his usual sardonic smirk.

“So, are you going to use your leave right away?” Jack asks, as he pulls on a clean shirt. “A lot of the guys are talking about doing that.”

Gabe crosses his arms behind his head. “I actually had some scheduled after the class already. I was going to look at a few houses in Virginia. I guess I don’t really have anything to do now. Are you…going straight back to Camp Pendleton?”

“I’m not. I scheduled leave after the class too. I’m, uh, going to visit my family in Cedar Rapids.”

“Family is important,” Gabe says, not really knowing what else to say. He masks his disappointment behind an ironic grin.

“Gabe,” Jack says on a sudden impulse. “Come with me.”

“What? Where?”

“Come with me to Cedar Rapids.”

Gabe looks genuinely startled. “Jack, that’s—that’s big-deal serious relationship stuff. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Now who’s getting ahead of himself,” Jack says with a mischievous grin. “I’m not asking you to come meet my family as my…”

“Boyfriend?”

Jack makes a face. “Ugh, I hate that word. Look, I’m not planning to out myself to my parents by bringing a man home and announcing that we’re fucking. I mean, just come as my friend Gabe from the Army. We can relax and experience the banal nothingness of Iowa together.”

“You make it sound so tempting.”

“Gabe,” Jack says solemnly. “I can show you a real-life farm. With cows and everything.”

“Well, in that case, I’m sold,” Gabe laughs.

“But I’m being serious. Come with me. It's only a five-hour drive, and you'll have your car, so you can escape if you hate it.”

“I don’t know, Jack…”

Jack climbs into the bed and sits astride Gabe’s lap. He bends down to kiss his neck and strokes his hair with his fingertips.

“You can spend your leave moping around and making yourself miserable about the SOG job, or you can spend it freaking out conservative Iowans and fucking me,” he says. He lowers his voice to a purr and lets his lips brush against Gabe’s ear. “Come with me, Gabriel. Please.”

“Ah—” Gabe says with a little shiver. “That’s not playing fair, cariño—ah…fuck. Fuck it. Ok. I’ll come with you, you little demon. You happy?”

Jack sits up, positively beaming. “I am. Thank you for asking.”

“But I want to fuck you at least twice a day,” Gabe says. “And you do have to show me a real-life farm. With cows and everything.”

“Deal.”


	13. Churchill and Roosevelt

“What are you doing?” Gabe says, leaning over to look at Jack’s telephone screen.

“Texting my sister, you snoop. She’s expecting to pick me up from the airport at 2200, and I have to let her know I’m driving up instead.”

They are in Gabe’s slick, black Cadillac at a gas station just outside Fort Leavenworth’s main gate. Last night, they said goodbye to the team in a raucous and jovial flurry of toasts, drunken attempts to play pool, and good-natured ribbing between the different services. Many of them have exchanged addresses and telephone numbers with Jack, making vague promises of keeping in touch. Among these are Lanier, who Jack likes more every time they talk, and Egret (Ben, that is), who it turns out, is rather funny and clever once he’s out of his shell.

Jack: Hey Moll, I’m not going to need that ride after all. My friend’s leave plans got cancelled and we’re driving up together instead. Can you let mom know he’ll be coming with me?

About a minute passes, then Jack’s phone chirps.

Molly: Awesome! What time will you be here?

Jack: A lot earlier than I would have, actually. We should be pulling in around 1430.

Molly: Got it. Mom is already digging out photo albums. BE AFRAID.

Molly: I’m letting her think it’s a girl-type friend to amuse myself. She’s already planning your wedding.

Jack: You are not!

Molly: She has access to high-school yearbooks. I can’t leave her power unchecked. You guys want to get married at New Day Baptist Church, right?

Jack: Moll! Be nice to mom!

Molly: I’m just messing with you, Jack. She wants to know his name.

Jack: Gabe

Another minute passes.

Molly: Mom says: Hi Gabe we are so excited to have you here you can stay in Molly’s old room are you vegetarian or kosher or allergic to anything Molly get off the phone and help me find the guest linens.

Jack: Thanks, Moll. Tell her no to the food stuff. You’re the best.

Molly: I am. It’s true. See you soon! Drive safe!

“I like your sister,” Gabe says. He has been reading the interchange over Jack’s shoulder.

“She’s pretty amazing.”

“But Jack, I can’t stay at your parents’ house like some kind of couch-surfing teenager. I’ll get a hotel.”

“You can try, but I don’t think you’ve tangled with an opponent like my mom before.”

“I think your parents are going to take one look at me and start locking up the valuables.”

“They’re not racists, Gabe. They’re just homely kind of small-town people.”

“They’re not racists? Where’s the fun in that? I was going to freak them out by speaking Spanish and everything.”

“My mom will love that, actually. She teaches Spanish.”

“Shit. I better not, then. Hers is probably better than mine.”

“Gabe, you don’t have to stay at my parents’ house if it makes you uncomfortable. But I think you might change your mind after you meet them. They’re really good people. Plus, Molly’s old room is in the basement, and it’s got its own full bathroom and a living room with couches and a TV and all that. It’s basically an apartment. She stayed in it all through college, and afterward till she got married.”

“Married? How old is she?”

“She’s thirty-one.”

“Your big sister is younger than me? Huh.”

“How old are you anyway?”

“I’m thirty-two,” Gabe grins and raises an eyebrow. “Too old for you?”

“Absolutely,” Jack says. “Deal’s off. I don’t want to be seen in public with a crotchety grandpa.”

“Shut the fuck up and kiss me before I put you over my knee.”

 

Their drive through the green and gold of America’s heartland proceeds as all such drives do, with the usual small traffic frustrations, the obligatory stop at a rest area that reeks of urine and Pine-Sol, and at last, the final, longed-for approach to their destination. Jack’s parents live in a quiet, nondescript suburban neighborhood, a few miles from downtown Cedar Rapids. Jack directs Gabe to park in the double-driveway beside a forest-green Subaru Outback. They climb stiffly out of the vehicle and stretch their limbs, and Gabe looks around. He has little context for what middle-class dwellings normally look like, and is surprised at how large the house and property appear to be. The house is a white, three-story farmhouse on a sprawling two-acre lot, which features a lush little vegetable garden and a man-made pond.

He is suddenly acutely uncomfortable. This had all seemed like an amusing idea in theory. But now, confronted with Jack’s real home and about to meet his actual parents, he quails. Jack sees the trepidation on his face as they take their bags out of the trunk.

“Hey,” he says, laying his hand on Gabe’s arm. “No pressure, alright? My family can be a little overwhelmingly friendly, so if it gets to be too much, let me know and we’ll get out of here for a while, ok?”

Gabe nods apprehensively. He opens his mouth to say something, but at that moment, the door bangs open and two black and white Australian Shepherds come bounding out, followed by a woman’s voice calling, “Jackie!” Gabe turns to see an good-looking, middle-aged blonde woman in a plaid shirt and blue jeans. She is so obviously Jack’s mother, that he doesn’t even pause to wonder. The two dogs are in paroxysms of joy to see their long-lost family member, and neither Gabe nor Jack can take a step till they’ve been thoroughly sniffed, licked, and jumped upon.

“Churchill! Roosevelt! That’s enough, boys!” Jack’s mother calls to the dogs. “Heel!”

The dogs collect their wits and trot obediently to the porch, followed by Jack and his bemused friend. They are welcomed into the house in a bustle of motherly affection and a series of questions regarding their drive and their immediate need for refreshment, too rapid-fire to attempt any answer. They pass through a mudroom into a tidy, tastefully-decorated living room, which adjoins an expansive farmhouse kitchen. Between the kitchen and living room, there is a bar-style counter with a few stools, near which a pretty blonde woman stands beaming and holding a hefty, black-haired infant. She comes forward and Jack kisses her cheek.

“Hey, Moll, how are you?”

“I’m great. I’m so glad to see you.” She turns to her brother’s tall, dark-haired friend. “You must be Gabe. I’m Jack’s sister Molly. It’s really nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Gabe says, smiling as best he can. He is trying not to stare at the wriggling infant in her arms, but Molly catches him and laughs.

“This is Phineas,” she says. “Just so you know, he is adopted. Joe and I went all the way to China for this fat little dumpling. And he’s never met his uncle Jackie before!”

She thrusts the squirming boy into Jack’s waiting arms. Gabe watches with an amused smirk as Jack bounces and nuzzles him affectionately.

“How’s my little Mojo?” Jack says.

The baby flails his stubby hands till he catches hold of Jack’s forefinger, which he immediately attempts to consume.

“Ugh, do not call him that,” Molly says, with mock annoyance. “Gabe, your friend Jack thinks he’s very clever. He’s been referring to my son as Mojo since before we got the papers signed.”

“Mojo?” Gabe asks, mystified.

“Yeah,” Jack says chirpily. “Molly plus Joe. Mojo.”

Gabe frowns. “Gross, Jack. I’m on your sister’s side.”

“A wise choice,” Molly says. “Let me show you the guest room so you can drop your stuff, ok?”

Gabe glances toward Jack, but he’s already carrying the baby off into the kitchen, so he takes a deep breath and follows his host downstairs. The guest room is a fully-finished daylight basement with plush carpet and a spacious living area, a separate bedroom with a large bathroom, and a sliding-glass door leading out to the backyard.

“This was my room,” Molly says, opening the bedroom door, “but don’t worry. All my stuff is at my house now, so there aren’t any creepy dolls or boy-band posters. Our dad is picking up our aunt and uncle, and Joe will be here after work, so we’re going to have kind of a full house. It’s really quiet down here, though, so feel free to escape to your room if the family gets overwhelming.”

Gabe smiles at Jack’s sister’s echo of his earlier words. That makes two offers of escape to solitude. How rowdy is this family?

“How long have you known Jack?” Molly asks, as they walk back up the stairs.

“Just a few weeks,” Gabe says. “We met when we started the class at Leavenworth.”

“Are you a Marine too?”

“No, Army. But my unit does pretty much the same thing Jack’s does. Surveillance and recon and that kind of thing.”

“Oh, Joe loves that stuff. You three can have all kinds of talks about satellites and cryptography and infiltration and all that.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting him,” Gabe says.

Molly makes a face and laughs, but Gabe does not understand the joke until about an hour later. Jack’s father and aunt and uncle have arrived and been effusively happy to meet Gabe. Drinks have been served, and the group are chatting animatedly about Jack’s youthful exploits.

The front door opens and a voice calls out, “Hey, whose caddy is that in the driveway? Holy shit, that’s a beautiful machine!”

Gabe turns to see a petite, attractive young woman, with her dark-brown hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, wearing a crisp, white, button-down shirt and tailored grey skirt.

“That’s Gabe’s car,” Molly says, rising and going to kiss the woman on the cheek. “Gabe, this is my wife, Joe. Joe, this is Jack’s friend Gabe.”

“Nice to meet you, Gabe,” the woman says, shaking Gabe’s hand affably. “That’s a hell of a car.”

“Thanks,” Gabe says, trying to act nonchalant and failing miserably. “I…I like it.”

Molly laughs merrily at his bewilderment. “Sorry, Gabe, I shouldn’t have done that to you, but I couldn’t resist.”

“Done what?” Joe wants to know.

“I didn’t tell Gabe I was married to a lady.”

“Molly, you bad girl,” Joe says, hooking her arm about Molly’s waist. “Sorry about my wife, Gabe. She’s full of mischief since she’s been at home with Phineas these past few months. I think she needs a hobby.”

“No apology necessary, ma’am,” Gabe replies, smiling. “I made the assumption, so really, I had it coming.”

“I like this one,” Joe says. “Let’s keep him. Where’s Jack? Hey, Jackie, how’ve you been?”

Gabe resumes his seat and is grateful to be able to fade into the background as the family enthusiastically dotes on their long-absent member. He likes seeing Jack happy like this, surrounded by people that love him and care about him, but he can’t help feeling a bitter stab of loneliness as he compares it to his own solitary, isolated existence. The faces of his own family rise unbidden before his mind’s eye and his stomach turns. He forces the images away, blotting them out, shoving them back down into the black well of misery at the core of his being. But he’s agitated now and knows he can’t conceal it for long. He excuses himself to use the restroom, and retreats as quickly as he can without attracting notice.

He makes his way back to the silent basement room and digs his cigarettes out of his bag. He steps out through the sliding-glass door and walks a few feet away into the soft, turfy grass to light it. He stands gazing across the airy, spacious landscape. The little pond reflects the sky like a quivering mirror. The row of trees along the fence are blazing with the reds and golds of early autumn. It’s all so perfect. Of course this is where Jack comes from. Jack is perfect. Gabe is from…somewhere not so perfect.

He smiles to himself, wondering what his parents would have thought of a family that managed to raise two lovely, well-adjusted, gay children. He doubts they would have been so pleased if his sister had married a woman. It strikes him suddenly as very strange that Jack describes his family as so conservative, when they are clearly accepting of his sister’s relationship. He his musing on this when he hears a footstep and turns. Molly is coming out the door.

“Hey, Gabe,” she says. “How you holding up?”

“Oh, I’m good. Just stepped out for one of these.” He holds up his cigarette. “My smoke isn’t bothering anyone, is it?”

“Nah, it doesn’t get into the house from out here. You mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” Gabe says. He’d prefer to be alone, but Jack’s sister has been kind and he doesn’t want to offend her.

He offers her a cigarette, which she accepts and allows him to light for her.

“Thanks for letting me bum off you,” she says, exhaling a cloud of white smoke. “I was supposed to quit when the baby came, but I still sneak one every now and then.”

“No problem,” Gabe says. He looks closely at her. She looks so much like Jack, that it’s bizarre, like seeing his female version from an alternate universe.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” she says, with a self-conscious smirk.

“Sorry,” he says. “You and Jack just look so much alike, I was trying to figure out if you were actual twins.”

“Yeah, twins born five years apart,” she laughs. “Gabe, I’m really glad to meet a friend of Jack’s. He’s…a little bit odd, and he doesn’t always have an easy time making friends.”

“Odd?”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’ve noticed. He’s strangely literal sometimes, doesn’t respond appropriately to obvious social cues, that kind of thing.”

Gabe has not noticed these things and he says so.

“Well, that’s good then,” she says. “That must mean he’s doing a lot better. I haven’t seen him in a couple of years, but last time he was here, he was a lot more…unhappy.”

“Unhappy?”

“Last time he came home was right after he got back from the Central African Republic. I’m sure he’s told you about it.”

“He hasn’t. He mentioned it once, but he didn’t go into any detail.”

“I better not say anything, if he hasn’t told you. But he had it rough.” Her pretty blue eyes fill, like she’s going to cry, but she blinks the tears back and sighs. “Really rough,” she repeats.

“Did he…was his personality different, when he came back?” Gabe asks. “I mean, his problem with social cues and all that?”

“No, no, he was always that way,” she says. “When he came back he was just kind of…broken, for a while. But I’m so glad he’s making friends. He really seems happy.”

They stand in silence, smoking and gazing into the distance for a moment. Gabe resumes the conversation.

“Molly, Jack’s been telling me how conservative his family is. Is he…mistaken about that? Pardon the bluntness of the question, but I’m a little confused.”

“Oh, you mean because I’m gay married?” she says, with a sly grin.

Gabe laughs. “Well, yes. I guess that’s why.”

“Overall, our parents are red-blooded, home and family types, but their ideas don’t extend into bigotry. All they really want is for us to be happy. When I came out to them, they had a really hard time with it, but it was because we lived in this small, right-wing-inclined town, and they were just torn up with anxiety about other people being cruel to me about it. I think what Jack saw was my dad stressing out and my mom crying, and he took that to mean it was the gay thing that had upset them.”

“So they were one-hundred percent supportive?”

“Yeah, they were,” she smiles. “They still are. They always loved Joe. They even sent us on a European vacation for our honeymoon. ”

“What about Jack?”

“You mean, is Jack gay too?” she asks, with an impish twinkle in her eye.

“I—I mean was Jack supportive,” Gabe stutters, caught entirely off guard.

“I’m sorry again, Gabe,” she says, bursting into a musical laugh. “I knew what you meant. I was just fucking with you. Yeah, he was totally on-board. I don’t think he really cares very much about relationships. Boy, he dated some real pieces of work, though.”

“Oh, did he?”

“You have no idea,” Molly says, shaking her head. “His high school girlfriend was the dumbest, shallowest little snot-nosed bitch I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet. I asked him what he was doing with her and he just shrugs and says, ‘Everyone said I should ask her out, so I did. It’s easier than arguing with them.’ Can you fucking believe that?”

“I can, actually,” Gabe says. “He is like that, isn’t he. Just wants everyone else to be happy.”

“Yeah, that’s Jack. But I hope he’s looking after his own happiness now. He’s the bravest, kindest, best man I know, Gabe. And I’m not saying that because I’m his sister. He really, truly is.”

“I believe it,” Gabe says. “I think he’s the best man I know, too.”

“You ready to go back in?” Molly asks, snuffing her cigarette. “My dad’s probably dying to talk Army stuff with you.”

“He was in the Army?”

“Yep. Master Sergeant John Patrick Morrison, retired.”

“Yeah, ok. Thanks for talking to me, Molly.”

“No problem,” she says giving Gabe a playful sock on the arm, “any friend of Jack’s is a friend of mine.”


	14. Sweetheart

Gabe follows Molly back into the living room to find Jack, Joe, and Jack’s father deep in conversation.

“I’m not trying to bust your balls, Morrison,” Joe is saying, “but if the DoD made decisions that weren’t so penny-wise and pound-foolish, maybe they wouldn’t be hemorrhaging money.”

“Coverage isn’t pound-foolish,” Jack rejoins.

His father assists. “The reason they have two guys for every one job is because the cost of that job not getting done for even a day is potentially far greater in the big picture than paying two people to keep it covered.”

“They wouldn’t need two people if their systems were up to date. It’s pure technophobia,” Joe says.

“Well, I can’t argue with you there,” the older man laughs. “That’s one of the military’s proudest traditions. Gabe! Help us out, here. This young lady is too sharp for us.”

“I doubt I’ll be much help, sir, but I can try,” Gabe replies.

“Don’t sir me, son,” Jack’s father says with mock gruffness. “I was an enlisted man. Not one of you fancy college boys. Call me John.”

“What’s the debate, John?” Gabe says.

“Joe is trying to convince us that spending billions on new guidance systems for US military aircraft would actually save the DoD money.”

“I think this is out of my league,” Gabe says. “I’m just a company-grade. They don’t let me choose what toilet paper to wipe my own ass with.”

“It’s out of my league, too,” Jack agrees. “These kinds of decisions come from the top brass.”

“Yes, but one day guys like you will be the top brass,” she insists. “It’s more about effecting a long-term shift in the military’s attitude toward technological flexibility than trying to get the old shirts to make massive changes right this minute.”

“I’m with you there,” Gabe says. “And when they make me Chief of Staff of the Army, I’ll do my best to make a difference.”

“Thank you,” Joe laughs. “I knew one of you would see reason. But, full disclosure Gabe, I work for one of the largest defense contractors in the world, so I might just be trying to guarantee I’ll still have a job in ten years.”

“Can’t blame you for that,” Gabe grins. “But in that case, I won’t be able to help you. I don’t think I’ll still be with the Army in ten years.”

“That’s a shame, son,” Jack’s father says. “Why do say that?”

“To be perfectly frank, sir—er, John, my career is stagnating. I don’t want to still be doing this same job a decade from now.”

“What would you rather be doing?”

“I applied for a position with the SOG. Twice. That’s where I wanted to be. But if it’s not in the cards, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll look into private defense contracting.”

“We’d be happy to take you,” Joe says. “We’re always looking for prior officers, especially with field experience.”

“But Gabe,” Jack interjects. His brow is knit with concern. “It’s not a closed door yet. You can reapply every year, if you really want it.”

“Yeah, I can,” Gabe says. “But I don’t know if I want to keep putting myself through all that.”

“Listen, son,” Jack’s father says. “If you decide you don’t really want it that bad, then fuck it. Don’t reapply. But letting yourself be discouraged by your first few rejections isn’t going to get you anything but something to regret later in life. If you know that job is where you’re meant to be, then you stick to your guns. You keep fighting for it. Don’t let some ink-pisser in the Langley personnel office decide your fate for you.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Gabe nods slowly. “Maybe I will apply again. Thanks, John.”

“I know I’m right,” Jack’s father replies. “That’s one of the advantages of being an old man. I know everything and I get to make you young people listen to me tell you all about it.”

This produces the intended laugh, as well as the obligatory protestations along the lines of, “you’re not an old man,” and the like. John excuses himself to refresh his drink, and Joe goes to help Molly put Phineas down for a nap. Jack and Gabe find themselves relatively alone for the first moment since they arrived.

“How you doing?” Jack asks. “I saw Molly sneak off after you a little while ago.”

“Yeah, she came out while I was smoking and we talked a bit. Hey, so…why didn’t you tell me your sister was gay?”

Jack looks confused. “I just didn’t think about it, I guess.”

“But don’t you think that’s kind of a big deal? Like, the kind of thing I’d want to know?”

“Is it?”

“Yes, Jack, it is,” Gabe says with a touch of impatience. “Especially considering our situation. Your family is completely ok with your sister being gay. You had me thinking they were bible-thumping conservatives.”

“I told you they weren’t bigots and that they were good people.”

“You said they weren’t racists. That’s different than them being totally cool with their daughter marrying a woman.”

“They weren’t totally cool with it,” Jack says. “Not at first. They freaked out about it.”

“Molly says they freaked out because they were worried people would be cruel to her.”

“I know,” Jack replies, growing increasingly flustered. “But…Molly being gay was what made them upset. I know they weren’t upset with her, but they…they were still really...upset.”

Jack pauses and takes a long, shaky breath. He raises those sapphire-blue eyes and looks earnestly into Gabe’s face.

“Gabe, it…hurt me to see them in distress that way,” he says. “I don’t want to ever want to see them like that again. I don’t want them to ever be sad that way because of…me.”

“I’m sorry,” Gabe says in a milder tone. “I didn’t mean jump on you like that. I’m not used to all this family stuff and I’m a little tense.”

“Maybe we should get out of here for a little while,” Jack offers. “Dinner’s in an hour, but we could take the dogs for a walk or something.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

Jack explains their intention of walking the dogs to his mother, who is delighted to have the four-legged interlopers out of the kitchen for a while. The two men, preceded by their canine scouts, walk at a leisurely pace down the immaculate sidewalk, past pleasant houses with neatly manicured lawns, till they turn off where a little path cuts through a green space between fences, and enter a small, grassy city park.

“Don’t they need leashes?” Gabe asks.

“Church and Rose? Leashes? Never,” Jack says. He grins and points to the clearly posted off-leash dog area sign.

The dogs race away across the grass at an alarming pace, but Jack doesn’t appear the least bit concerned. He stops and gazes all about him, breathing deeply, as if he’s savoring a familiar scent on the crisp, autumn breeze. He turns and looks up at his companion.

“Thank you,” he says.

“For what?” Gabe asks, taking his hands and pulling him close.

“For this. For being here with me.”

Gabe wraps Jack up in his arms. Jack lifts his hands and strokes the rough stubble on Gabe’s jaw, kissing him softly at first, then with increasing intensity. At that moment, the dogs come barreling back, yapping and knocking into their legs, which makes them both laugh into their kiss. Gabe feels a deep, piercing wrench at the almost unbearable sweetness of the moment.

He draws away just in time to see a thin, red-haired woman, pushing a stroller and dragging a male toddler by the hand, stop short about ten yards away. She stands frozen on the sidewalk that divides the park, staring at them, while the boy twists and writhes. In the space of half a second, he yanks himself free and falls hard on the seat of his overalls. He lets out a shrill wail, and Jack starts and whips around.

“Oh fuck,” he says under his breath. “Ashley.”

Churchill and Roosevelt begin to bound toward the toddler, eager to offer their assistance, but Jack snarls, “Heel!” in a deep, throaty tone the other soldiers call “command voice.”

The dogs stop instantly, standing rigid and stacked, like sentries before Jack and Gabe. By this time, the woman has collected her keening toddler from the ground and quieted him with some unnecessarily sharp words. She gives a little toss of her shoulder-length, artificially reddened hair, and continues along the sidewalk toward them.

“Who the fuck is Ashley?” Gabe says, just above a whisper.

“My high school girlfriend.”

“Fuck.”

The little caravan stops on the sidewalk again, this time in front of Jack.

“Oh, Jack,” the woman says, as if she’s only just noticed him. “It’s you. I didn’t know you were in town.”

“Why would you know that, Ashley?” Jack asks curtly.

“It’s a small town,” she says, with a positively acidic smile. “You know how word gets around.”

Gabe looks darkly at this harpy from beneath his heavy brows. She’s thin and angular, and has a face that could be called almost pretty, were it not so twisted with malice.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jack says icily.

“Oh, nothing at all,” she says, her lip curling in a sneer. “It’s just _so_ nice to see you. Give your parents my best.”

She casts a poisonous glance at Gabe, gives her hair another little toss, and drags her toddler along the sidewalk past them. Jack follows her with his eyes till she rounds the corner and disappears, then he collapses into a sitting position on the grass.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, dropping his head into his hands. “I’m so fucked.”

Gabe crouches down and puts a hand on his shoulder. Jack jumps as if he’s startled, and his eyes dart wildly up to Gabe’s face.

“Gabe, this is the worst thing,” he breathes. “The worst thing that could have happened. She will tell the entire city about it. We’ll be lucky if it’s not on the fucking news tonight.”

“Are…are you sure she even…saw anything?” Gabe offers lamely.

“Of course she saw. Did you see her face? She’s never looked so happy.”

“That’s what she looks like happy? Christ.”

“Yeah, that’s about it,” Jack says, gazing off in the direction she has gone. “She was only ever really happy when she was making someone miserable. Usually that was me. This will be the greatest day of her life. She’ll finally have her petty little revenge. She’ll get to destroy my life and my career in one fell swoop.”

“Jack, listen to me,” Gabe says. “She can’t do that. Do you understand? It would be her word against yours and mine, and we’re two commissioned officers in excellent standing in the US military. She’s just some vindictive cunt from a small town, who got dumped by you and wants to get you back.”

This appears to palliate Jack somewhat, but Gabe can still feel him shaking. Jack lowers his head again and rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands.

“This isn’t how I wanted this to happen, Gabe,” he says. His voice is muffled and weak. “This is worse than the worst thing I imagined.”

“Wanted what to happen?” Gabe says gently.

Jack looks up at his friend. His brilliant blue eyes are rimmed with red and there are tears on his face.

“Oh, no,” Gabe says, beginning to sound panicked. “Jack, no. Don’t—don’t do that. It’s going to be ok. Don’t cry sweetheart, please.”

Jack blinks up at him and then laughs through his tears. “Gabe, did I just hallucinate?”

Gabe stands up quickly and turns away to conceal the flush of color he can feel rising into his face.

“Gabe, you called me sweetheart,” Jack says, hopping up and taking hold of him by the front of his jacket. “The word sweetheart came out of your mouth!”

“I didn’t mean to—I just meant—” Gabe falters. “You were so upset, and I…”

“Too late, Reyes,” Jack says. “You can’t unsay it now.”

Jack’s mirth is cut short by his phone vibrating in his pocket. His stomach turns with anxiety as he pulls it out.

Molly: Hey you vagabonds, dinner is almost ready! Come home soon, or I’ll eat all of yours myself.

Jack: On our way

Molly: Jack, you’ll never believe who just had the balls to call mom. Ashley fucking Reid. Can you even believe it?

Jack: That’s weird. What did she say?

Molly: Mom says she told her she just saw you in the park and wanted to make sure you told mom she said hello. There is something seriously wrong with that girl.

Molly: I mean, wronger than usual.

Jack: Yeah that’s super weird. See you in a few minutes.

“Ashley called my mom,” Jack says in answer to Gabe’s questioning look.

“What did she say?”

“I guess she told her she saw us in the park and wanted to make sure I said hello for her.”

“That was all?”

“That’s what my mom told Molly.” Jack shakes his head. “What the fuck is she up to?”

“I don’t know,” Gabe says. “Maybe she just wants to hold it over your head.”

“Like…blackmail?”

“Jesus, I hope not.”

“I don’t think that’s likely. Even something that simple is too complex for Ashley’s tiny brain. She just likes to make people suffer.”

They walk back to the house under a black cloud of trepidation. Jack hesitates at the door, reluctant to go in and face his family. Churchill and Roosevelt, as if they sense their master’s distress, nuzzle concernedly at his knees and make soft little whines. Gabe puts his hands on Jack’s shoulders and turns him around to face him.

“Jack,” he says. “It’ll be ok. Whatever that bitch said, whatever happens now, I’m with you. No matter what.”


	15. The Wreckage

Jack and Gabe reenter the Morrison home, heralded enthusiastically by Churchill and Roosevelt. The table is set and aunt Liz is helping Jack’s mother load it with enough food to satisfy several hungry regiments.

“Mom,” Molly says. “Tell Jack about the shock you just had. If you’ve recovered enough to talk about it, of course.”

Jack’s mother turns to them, shaking her head and holding her hands up in a gesture of disbelief.

“Jackie, you would not believe. I thought it must be a sign of the apocalypse, answering my phone and hearing the voice of that little…”

“Bitch,” Molly offers.

“Hellbeast,” Joe assists.

“Girls!” Jack’s mother says, with somewhat exaggerated disapproval. “But really, Jackie, why Ashley Reid would think a call from her would be welcome, no matter what the circumstances, is beyond me.”

“What—what did she say?” Jack asks anxiously.

“Just that she ran into you and wanted to make sure you said hello for her! Jackie, I think that girl’s mind must be going. I made it very clear to her that she was not remembered with friendly sentiments here.”

“That’s really strange,” Jack says uneasily. “I hope she doesn’t keep bothering you.”

“Maybe I’ll change my number,” Jack’s mother says. “Anyway, I’m sorry you ran into her that way, Jackie. She and the idiot who married her moved into the neighborhood about six months ago. I’ve never run into them myself, so I didn’t think to warn you.”

“It’s ok, mom,” Jack says, giving his mother a kiss on the cheek. “I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”

“I know you are, baby,” his mother says. She looks up at her tall, handsome son and strokes his blonde hair affectionately. “Now go wash up for supper. We’re eating in five minutes.”

Dinner is a lively, convivial affair, full of the family’s merry laughter and the general warmth of their mutual fondness. Gabe is not entirely at ease in the presence of so many people, but he manages to be pleasant and conversational, and even begins to enjoy himself. He’s never comprehended why grown military men would willingly go home to visit their families, but now he thinks it’s possible, if he had a family like Jack’s, that he may be inclined to do so as well. There is some scattered talk of Jack’s birthday party tomorrow, and eventually the long, comfortable meal is over.

Jack’s father departs to take their aunt and uncle home, and Molly, Joe, and Phineas follow soon after. Jack is helping his mother in the kitchen, and Gabe, being firmly denied permission to do any housework, excuses himself to smoke a cigarette. Jack is scrubbing a casserole dish in the soapy water in the sink, when his mother stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Jackie,” she says. Her tone is soft and serious.

Jack’s heart stops. He wipes his hands on a dish towel to buy himself a second. Then he turns around, attempting to conceal his distress with a smile. His mother gazes up at him and lays her hands gently on his face.

“Jackie,” she says again. Her voice is quavering and a tear starts down her cheek. “Honey, I love you so much.”

Jack’s veins freeze with terror. “Mom, why—why are you sad? Mom, don’t cry. I—please don’t be sad, mom.”

She throws her arms around him in a crushing embrace. “I’m not sad, baby. I’m just—I’m so proud of you. I’m so proud of the man you’ve become. And I only want you to be happy, ok? Do you know that?”

“I know, mom,” Jack says. He returns the embrace, then gently frees himself to look down at her. “Why…why are you saying all this right now? What did…” he breaks off, not wanting speak the thing he already knows has happened.

“Honey, listen to me,” his mother says firmly. “Ashley Reid is a rotten, nasty little person. She called here trying to…make trouble. But, Jackie, I don’t need that snot-nosed brat to tell me anything about my son. She didn’t tell me anything I didn’t know the minute you walked in the door.”

“Mom, I—”

“No, let me say this one thing first. As long as you are happy, I am happy too, Jackie. No matter what.”

Jack is trembling all over. Tears start down his face as well.

“Are you happy, baby?” his mother says softly.

“I…I am,” he says hoarsely. “I am.”

“Good. Then I am so happy for you,” she says, wiping away his tears, then her own.

“Mom, why are we crying?” Jack asks gravely. “Why would being happy make us cry?”

She laughs, and embraces him tightly again. “I don’t know, baby. Sometimes joy cuts just as sharp and deep as sorrow, I suppose.”

Then she steps back and takes his large, strong hands in her little, delicate ones. Looking up into his bright blue eyes with her own, just as bright and blue, she says, “Do you love him?”

“I…don’t know,” Jack says. “How—how will I know?”

“You’ll know, baby. When you’re ready to know. But…be careful, ok? With him.”

“Careful? What do you mean?”

“You may not be sure how you feel about him yet, but, honey…that man is in love with you.”

Jack’s heart runs ragged and his breath catches. He attempts to swallow in a dry throat, and gazes wide-eyed at his mother, unable to speak or move or even think. She draws him down and kisses his forehead gently.

“This is your secret, Jackie. It’s as safe with me as with yourself,” she says. “But I hope one day you’ll feel comfortable enough to let your dad know. In your own time and your own way. But one day.”

“I…I will. Thank you, mom.” Jack’s tears begin afresh. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, baby,” she says. “Now, no more crying or your father will come home and wonder what we’re carrying on about in here. No, I don’t need any more help. Go and see your friend. He’s all by himself.”

Jack nods, gives his mother another kiss and grateful squeeze, and departs in search of Gabe. He finds him just reentering through the sliding glass door in the basement.

“What’s wrong,” Gabe says, immediately aware of Jack’s pale face and reddened eyes. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Jack says, taking him by the hand. “It’s nothing. Come here.”

He pulls Gabe into the bedroom and shuts the door behind them.

“Jack, what—” Gabe begins.

Jack stops his mouth with a wild, almost ferocious kiss. He pushes the larger, stronger man down onto the bed and kisses him so forcefully that it quite literally takes Gabe’s breath away.

“Fuck,” Gabe pants, “what’s gotten into you, cariño?”

“You, you,” Jack groans, pulling at Gabe’s shirt till he sits up and allows it to be removed. “I want you. Fuck me. Fuck me right now.”

“Are you—ah! Are you sure?”

Jack has undone Gabe’s fly and is already taking hold of his cock.

“Yes,” he says. “Now. Fuck me now.”

He puts his mouth on the head of Gabe’s rigid cock, sucking it feverishly.

“Whoa, Jack, wait,” Gabe gasps, “Wait! Stop or I’m gonna come.”

Jack withdraws and stands up to remove his clothing, keeping his eyes fixed on Gabe’s. Gabe has never seen him in this mood. He is surprised by the sudden aggressiveness, but he doesn’t dislike it. He finds he enjoys being desired so passionately. Being eagerly wanted by someone so beautiful. So perfect. Their clothes are hastily stripped away and at last they are naked together, skin to skin, and there is nothing else in the world. Gabe lowers his broad, muscular body onto Jack’s and gazes into those impossible eyes as he slowly penetrates him. Jack shudders and gasps. Gabe pushes his legs back, lifting him higher, spreading him further apart, as he thrusts into him. But it’s Jack this time, who holds Gabe’s eyes with his own. Gabe stares back, helpless, utterly enthralled, into those vivid pools of blue as he drives himself urgently, almost desperately into his lover.

“I’m going to come,” Jack says breathlessly. “Come, Gabriel. Come now.”

Gabe’s body responds instantly to this command, as if Jack has tapped directly into his physical reflexes and Gabe is no longer in control. He comes, groaning through his teeth, heart pounding, holding his cock deep inside Jack as his aching ejaculation is wrenched out of him by Jack’s command. Jack’s _will_. Jack comes at the same time, contracting and convulsing on Gabe’s thick shaft, spewing hot bursts onto their stomachs. Gabe collapses onto Jack and lies there panting and nearly out of his senses. He listens to Jack’s racing heartbeat as it begins to slow and become regular. Jack’s chest rises and falls with his long, deep breaths.

Gabe doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep till he feels Jack shaking him gently. He opens his eyes and blinks groggily, blinded by the bright sunlight pouring in through the high, narrow window.

“What…what the fuck?” he mumbles. “How is it morning already?”

Jack laughs and strokes his back with his fingertips. “You slept all night. Out cold for almost ten hours.”

“Jesus,” Gabe says, dragging himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. “What did you do to me?”

“Fucked you senseless,” Jack grins.

“I’ll say. I never sleep like that.” He sees that Jack is already dressed. “How long have you been up, you little wildcat?”

“An hour. Come on, get showered and dressed. Breakfast will be ready soon, and Molly and Joe are on their way over.”

“Fuck’s sake, how early do these people get up?”

“Pretty early. We’ve been a military family almost our whole lives,” Jack says. “But it’s past nine already. Get moving, Reyes.”

“Alright, alright,” Gabe says. “Give me a kiss first.”

“Not a chance! Go brush your teeth!”

Gabe emerges showered and dressed to the cheery good-mornings of Jack’s assembled nuclear family. Jack is with Phineas on the living room floor, and the two are deeply engrossed in attempting to fit geometric shapes made of brightly colored plastic into their corresponding slots on a white plastic board. Gabe sits at the bar beside Molly, thanks Jack’s mother for the coffee that immediately appears, and listens to the conversation.

“I just don’t think the school system is equipped to give him the attention he’ll need,” Molly says. “Mom, you know what I mean. You taught in this district for years.”

“You’d know better than me, Molly,” Jack’s mother replies, setting a loaded dish before Gabe. “You’ve worked with the schools a lot more recently.”

“They do what they can, Moll,” Joe says. She’s wearing jeans and a black sweater today, and her dark brown hair is loose and wavy. “But if you don’t think it’s enough, then we should talk some more about private tutors.”

“Private tutors.” Molly wrinkles her pretty nose. “I hate hearing it out loud. It sounds so stuffy and Victorian.”

“If you’ll pardon my butting in, ma’am, ” Gabe says. “I was taught by private tutors, and I did very well. I finished secondary school by sixteen.”

“You were?” Molly asks. “Why? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“It’s complicated, but it was part of my court-appointed guardian’s agreement with the state to treat me as an emancipated minor.”

“Your court-appointed guardian could afford private tutors? For all four years of high school?”

“Molly!” Jack’s mother admonishes. “Don’t be rude.”

“Sorry, Gabe, I didn’t mean to be indelicate,” Molly says. “But that’s a hell of a bomb to drop so casually. I mean, we’ve looked into the costs, and they’re pretty steep, even for primary school.”

The idea of the expense of such an education and what it might suggest to other people hasn’t occurred to Gabe, and he finds himself feeling exceedingly embarrassed.

“No, it’s alright. I—I wasn’t really aware of the cost. Why are you looking into tutors?” he asks, desperate to get the focus off himself. “Are the schools here bad?”

“They’re not bad,” Joe replies. “But Molly was working with the special needs kids in the district before Phineas came, and she doesn’t think the programs are adequate.”

“For…what?” Gabe says, hopelessly lost.

“Oh, Gabe,” Molly says. “You didn’t know. Phineas has Down Syndrome.”

“Jesus, I’m sorry,” Gabe says, more embarrassed than ever. “I didn’t mean to—god, I’m a jackass.”

“It’s ok,” Joe says. “We’ve found most people here in the US have had a hard time telling. It’s likely because of his Asian features. I think they conceal some of the physical traits that would be more visible in a Caucasian baby.”

“When we decided we were ready to adopt, we worked with an organization I learned about through my job,” Molly explains. “They help children like Phineas get linked up with families who are able to properly care for them. Otherwise…well, the outlook for those kids is pretty dismal, let’s leave it at that. But with my experience and my sugar-mama’s money, we went right to the top of the list. It only took a year to get approved. Then we flew off to China and scooped up our little bundle.”

“Wow,” Gabe says, genuinely impressed. “That’s such an honorable thing. I’m speechless.”

“I think we got the better end of the deal,” Joe says modestly. “He’s an absolute joy.”

As if on cue, the beloved bundle lets loose a terrific yell, breaking the grown-ups into a fit of laughter.

“Uh, Moll,” Jack calls out. “Little help?”

“Excuse me,” Molly says, getting up from her stool. “My son has apparently been disagreeing with his uncle and requires my assistance.”

After Gabe has finished eating, he and Jack remove a protesting Mrs. Morrison from her own kitchen and undertake the cleaning up themselves. She appears dubious as to their skill, and hovers a bit, but the boys have had plenty of KP duty in their day, as Mr. Morrison reminds his lady love, and they make a quick and efficient job of it. In after years, Jack finds that the only thing he actually remembers from this day is the citrusy aroma of the dish soap rising from the warm suds in the sink. That, and Gabe’s voice behind him, questioning his mother regarding the proper storage of some piece of cookware. After that, there is a blank space in his mind. Nothing else of this day exists in his memory until he is standing in the ICU waiting room, holding the sobbing wreckage of his family in his arms.


	16. Silence

They tell Jack that he’s the one who found his father. They tell him that he administered chest compressions, directed the family to call an ambulance, and rode with his father to the hospital. He has no memory of these things. He closes his eyes and he is inside the screaming vortex of uncomprehending pain. He opens his eyes and he is standing in the ICU waiting room. A woman in a white coat is calling herself Dr. Okinaka. She is explaining something about a stroke. She is saying they did everything they could. She is so sorry, Mr. Morrison. Jack’s mother is crying.

He closes his eyes and he is a Jackie, a terrified little boy whose world has come apart at the seams. He opens his eyes and he is Major John Patrick Morrison Jr., United States Marine Corps. Executor of his father’s will, support to his grieving mother, and his family’s rock in this stormy sea. Joe holds Phineas. Jack holds mom and Molly. Everyone cries but Jack. He is listening to the doctor. Comforting his mother. Giving orders regarding his father’s remains. His father’s remains. Jack dives another level deeper.

He is leading them into the cramped, white room. Telling them to say their goodbyes. The tubes and machines have been removed and everything is very clean. There should be more disarray. More chaos. Some sign that here in this room, a family has been annihilated. Jack looks his last upon his father’s face with all the dignified solemnity becoming a United States Marine. Then he leads his broken family away. Gabe has pulled the car around for Molly, Joe, and the baby. Jack drives his mother home in her forest-green Subaru Outback.

Gabe assists the girls into the house and respectfully recedes. Jack makes coffee. No one drinks it. Of course Molly and Joe can have his room. It’s closest to mom and dad’s room, and mom may need Molly tonight. No, he’ll be fine. Yes, Molly should be the one to call the members of the extended family. She’s better with those things. He’ll arrange everything with the funeral home tomorrow. Mom, you need to try and get some sleep. Jack is taking care of everything.

Jack takes care of everything. His sense of Jack as an individual, his sense of self, is entirely submerged in his duty. Duty to his father’s memory, duty to his mother, duty to his sister. He telephones his commander and gets his leave extension for bereavement. The funeral will be held on Tuesday. Yes, there will be an honor guard. Jack has arranged all of that. Jack calls dad’s lawyer and deals with all the financial matters. Dad’s will is simple, and leaves everything to mom. That is dealt with easily. The house has been owned outright for decades, and dad’s benefits more than cover the property taxes. Their retirement savings and mom’s income are sufficient to supply her needs indefinitely, and she has Molly and Joe, just in case.

When the pulse-bomb of tragedy demolishes this little family, Gabe’s first instinct is to flee. He can’t be here for this. He can’t allow himself to be sucked down into this mire of loss and sorrow. But his sudden absence would add to the misery and the guilt would destroy him. He is part of this now, whether he likes it or not. So he does what he is best at. He makes himself invisible and he watches. He watches Jack. The beautiful, blonde, blue-eyed young man he had taken for something of a naïve child. But Jack is a man.

Major John Patrick Morrison, Jr. stands tall and proud in his dress blues, saluting as Taps is played. The rifles ring out. The casket is lowered. Jack is perfect. His tragic heroism as he presents the flag to his mother sets the gathering weeping anew. A minister gives a eulogy that Jack does not hear, then they are allowed to depart. Who was that tall, dark-haired man in the Army dress uniform? Must be a son of someone who knew John in the Army. He was sitting with the family. Sitting beside John’s son. Weren’t they perfect in those uniforms? Just like a picture. So noble and sad.

They are still wearing their stiff dress uniforms. The services have ended and the friends and relations have gone.

“I need to talk to you,” Gabe says.

They go down into the basement room. Gabe shuts the door.

“Jack, I…” He begins. His voice chokes in his throat.

“What is it?”

“Jack, I need you to tell me something. I need you to tell me that you don’t—” he breaks off and turns his back.

Jack’s blood runs cold. Gabe is going to say those words. Those horrible words that make people cry and hate Jack when he doesn’t say them too. He hears Gabe take a long, shaky breath.

“Jack,” Gabe says quietly, still facing the door. “Tell me you don’t love me.”

Jack opens his mouth. It’s dry. He can’t speak. He tries to swallow. “I…I can’t.”

Gabe turns and looks at him keenly. He takes a heavy, almost menacing, step toward Jack. “You can’t say it? Or you can’t love me?”

Jack retreats backward two steps. He’s shaking all over and sweat begins to bead on his forehead. He has been pinned down and under fire in the hopeless black of the jungle night. He has been shot. He has been captured and tortured by the enemy. But he has never been this terrified in his life.

“I can’t…say it.” He swallows hard. “I can’t say it because…I won’t mean it.”

Gabe takes another step toward him. He backs up into the wall. Gabe puts his hands on the wall on either side of Jack’s head. Jack stares up at him, wild-eyed and breathless.

“Jack. Tell me you don’t love me.”

Jack shakes his head slowly. “I can’t.”

Gabe presses him against the wall with his entire body and kisses him like it’s all he knows how to do. Jack’s knees buckle, but it doesn’t matter. He’s already in Gabe’s arms, being lifted off his feet. Being laid down in his bed. Being kissed and undressed. Gabe is pushing his legs apart, penetrating him, thrusting into him, saying “I love you,” over and over again. Jack realizes that he’s saying it, too. Saying “I love you.” And he means it. When Jack comes between them, it’s with a deep, visceral tremor that begins in his gut, building and intensifying till it bursts in a long, throbbing ache. Gabe comes inside him, clinging to him and kissing him, repeating, “Jack, Jack, I love you.”

Jack takes care of everything and Gabe takes care of Jack. His role in the house has shifted without comment, without acknowledgement that things have ever been otherwise. A gentle flowing into routine, rather than a clearly-defined act of change. Jack sleeps in the basement room with Gabe. This is simply the way it is. Gabe wraps his arms around Jack when they sit together in the living room. Of course he does. This is the way they are. Together.

Then they are not. It is time for Gabe to go. His leave is over and he is expected at Fort Hood. He is packing his things in the basement room. Jack sits on the edge of the bed.

“It’s a long drive. Are you going to be ok?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Are you going to be ok?”

Silence. It was a stupid question.

Gabe tries again. “When do you have to be back?”

“A couple of days. I don’t want to leave them like this, but I have to. They understand. Mom will be fine. She has Molly and Joe.”

Then Gabe is gone. Jack’s father is dead and Gabe is gone and Jack is bleeding. But Major John Patrick Morrison, Jr. does his duty. He takes care of everything. He does not bleed. He does not weep. He bids his family a stoic farewell and he gets back to work. He returns to Camp Pendleton and submerges himself in his duty. Nearly a week has passed and he has not heard from Gabe. He gets a message.

G: Thinking about you

He lets an hour pass before he responds.

Jack: How are Lanier and Gabby?

G: Good. Lanier says hello.

Jack: He’s a good man. Give him my best.

G: will do

G: I miss you.

Jack does not respond. Two weeks pass before he hears from Gabe again.

G: How are you?

Jack: Really good. You?

G: hanging in there

G: I miss you, Jack.

Jack: I’m sorry.

G: what does that mean

Jack: I’m sorry this hurts you.

G: it doesn’t hurt you?

Jack: We knew how this would be.

G: How it would end, you mean.

Jack: I guess that’s what I mean. 

G: You said you loved me, Jack.

Jack: I do

Jack’s phone rings. He doesn’t answer it.

Jack: Please forgive me.

Silence.

 

Nearly a year has passed and he tells himself he hasn’t thought about Gabe at all. He has been too busy doing his job. He was an excellent soldier before, now he is a flawless machine. Two years have passed. The commander starts talking career options. Jack says he is thinking about trying something different. Would the commander consider recommending him for a position with the SOG? The commander doesn’t think he’ll need a recommendation. Jack is overqualified for such a position, and his service record speaks for itself. But he writes it anyway.

Jack is accepted immediately. They don’t wait to send him a letter, though that arrives later. They call him to say they will be exceedingly happy to have him on board. Two years after his father’s death, Jack packs his bags and heads to Virginia to join the Special Operations Group under the CIA’s umbrella. And he hasn’t thought of Gabe at all.


	17. The Colonel

A young man in a blue polo shirt and khaki slacks paces anxiously in the hall before an office door. He has knocked twice, and not receiving an answer, he pokes his head in.

“Sir?”

“I heard you,” the office’s occupant says. “Just a minute, I’m on the phone.”

He is an older gentleman, perhaps fifty-five or so, with strong, handsome features, green eyes, and light brown hair and beard that are just beginning to go grey. The polo-shirted young man makes and impatient gesture with both hands. The older man sighs.

“Can I call you right back, darlin’? Shearwater’s got a bee in his bonnet about something. Yep. Bye.” The man sets the phone on the cradle. “Well?”

“Sir, I just wanted to let you know, we got Morrison.”

“Morrison. Which one is he?”

“The uh, the Marine, sir. The one from the Central Africa incident.”

“Ah, yeah.” The man flips through some files on his desk and opens one. “Ok, good. Where is he?”

“On his way to the Farm, sir.”

“Think you can have them speed it the fuck up? The boy’s already been to SERE school at the Mountain and he’s seen plenty of combat.”

“I’ll see what I can do, sir. Should I call Andreev?”

“Yeah, tell him we scooped the boy up.”

“Oh, sir—uh…”

“Spit it out, son, I ain’t got all day.”

“Morrison, sir. He came to us.”

“Did he now?” The man scratches his neatly-trimmed beard. “Interesting. Well, the lord works in mysterious ways. What about the other one? The Army boy?”

“We, uh…we are still waiting to hear back.”

“Waiting to hear back! Shearwater, if you don’t—” the man breaks off and takes a deep breath. He begins again in a weary, forbearing tone. “Shearwater, if you wouldn’t mind sending someone to god damned get him, I’d be very much obliged.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good. Let me know when he’s on his way.”

“Yes, sir.”

The young man retreats hastily. The older man gives a little chuckle and shakes his head. He rifles the pile of folders again and opens another. Then he picks up his phone and punches the keypad.

“Hi there,” he says genially. “Thomas Lawrence for the doctor. Sure thing.”

He scans the open files as he waits a minute or two.

“Hello again, darlin’,” he says into the phone. “I thought you might want to know, we picked up Morrison. He’s on his way to the Farm now. Not yet. We’re sending an envoy to sweet talk him.” A pause as he listens. “Well, I know he has, Angie, but there’s some kind of hold-up. Maybe the letter didn’t get to him.” Another pause. “Yep. I’ll see to it personally. Bye now.”

At around six o’clock in the evening on a Wednesday in early October, a navy-blue, late-model sedan pulls up to a small, brick-front house on Marshall street, in Fort Hood’s Patton Park. Two men dressed in polo shirts and khaki slacks get out of the vehicle and lean on it, apparently waiting for someone arrive. A few minutes later, a slick, black Cadillac pulls into the house’s driveway. The driver of this vehicle, a tall, dark-haired man in an officer’s ACUs, emerges and approaches the two men.

“Major Reyes,” one of the polo-shirts says.

“That’s right,” the major replies. “Can I help you, gentlemen?”

“Would you mind if we stepped inside for a chat, sir?”

“I would mind,” Reyes says. “How about you tell me what you want.”

“Major, we’re with the—”

“I know who you are,” the major interrupts. “What do you want?”

“Well, sir, you should have received a letter informing you of your acceptance into the group.”

“I did.”

“Our boss would like to know why you haven’t responded to the letter, sir.”

“Because I don’t want the job,” Reyes says coolly. “Is that all?”

“No, sir. I’m sorry to be blunt, but if you don’t want the job, our boss would like to know why. Since you…you know, applied to it twice.”

“I applied for that post more than two years ago. I am no longer interested. If your boss wants to know why, he can talk to me himself.”

The men look at each other uncomfortably. “We have strict orders not to leave here until you accept the position, sir.”

“Then I hope you enjoy sleeping in your car,” Reyes says, opening his front door. “Good night, gentlemen.”

The two men stare dumbly after him as he steps into the house and shuts the door behind him. About five minutes pass, and then Gabe’s cell phone rings with a call from an unidentified number. He lets it ring four times.

“Reyes,” he says irritably.

“Gabriel Reyes,” a gruff, leathery voice responds. “How are you, son?”

Gabe’s entire aspect changes. He takes a deep breath to calm his voice before he answers.

“Colonel Lawrence,” he says. “I’m well, sir. They—they didn’t tell me you’d be calling me personally.”

“Well, I didn’t tell them they could,” the older man says smoothly. “Listen, son, I’d like to know why you changed your mind about joining us, and I’d like to find out what I can do about changing it back.”

“With all due respect, sir, I applied to the position twice. Why has the SOG changed its mind about wanting me?”

“Well, typically we want special forces men. I know there are exceptions, but the agency didn’t feel inclined to make one at the time. However, I’ve had my eye on you since then, and I want you for the job.”

“You have, sir?”

“Well, my eyes have had eyes on you, if you know what I mean. Listen, Gabriel, I’m putting together a special team for a specific purpose, here and it won’t work without you on board. I can’t tell you what it is, but I can tell you we’re going to make history. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime. What do you say, son? Can I count on you?”

Gabe hesitates, but it is purely out of the desire to avoid seeming overly eager.

“I…Yes. Yes, sir. You can count on me, of course.”

The older man lets out a deep, hearty laugh. “Well, that’s what I hoped to hear, son. Good. Good. You’ll get your orders this week. Welcome aboard, Gabriel.”

“I…thank you, sir.”

“Thank _you_ , son. I’ll see you soon. Oh, and if you could, give my men a shout, and let ‘em know they can scoot, would you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thanks again, Gabriel. Bye now.”

Gabe stuffs his phone in his pocket and puts his hand over his racing heart. Colonel Thomas Lawrence is a living legend. The greatest soldier and spy the US has ever seen, possibly the world. The man was the reason Gabe had wanted to go into the SOG in the first place. To receive a call from his personal hero this way…it has been almost more than he can take. Of course he said yes. What choice did he have? He lets the men wait outside for another ten minutes, before he opens the door and calls out that Colonel Lawrence says they are dismissed.

The next two months are a blur of change and activity. Gabe gets his orders in his hand before he explains the situation to Lanier, who is, as he puts it, as pleased as pie that his friend is finally doing something with himself, besides moping around here like a sack of sad dog shit. It takes two more weeks to sort out his affairs at Fort Hood, to outprocess the post, and to say his heartfelt goodbyes to the Lanier family.

When all is said and done, he heads to Camp Peary, which the men call the Farm, to commence his training. The belongings he has at Fort Hood are shipped and stored for him while he is in training, and transitional lodging will be provided once he’s through. The remaining six weeks of this flurried two months are spent in rigorous, intensive training in clandestine tradecraft, interrogation resistance, and the like, much of which Gabe is already conversant with, and some of which he finds new and interesting.

At long last, he is considered to be well enough prepared to enter the SOG as a US Army special agent, destined for a position on a team that is apparently going to make history, though no one has thought it necessary to explain to Gabe what this will entail. The few things he has with him are in a suitcase and a couple of duffel bags on the floor of his temporary lodging. He gets out of bed this morning more energized and feeling more alive than he has in two years. Than he has since…that day. He has picked up his phone at least ten times in the past two months, filled with the urge to send a message to that person. Just to tell him what has happened. How his dream is finally coming true. But each time, he stops. Gut-punched and coldly rebuffed by those final words. _Please forgive me_.

He swallows the empty ache and pushes the pain down deep. He tries to be happy, focusing on the fact that the career he has always wanted is suddenly opening out before him like a brand new horizon to an eager explorer. He has been instructed to dress casually, so he pulls on his customary tight black t-shirt and jeans, with his grey, heavyweight hooded jacket. The grooming regulations for SOG agents are essentially nonexistent, so he has allowed his facial hair to grow out into a neatly-trimmed goatee and moustache, which gives him a charmingly rakish appearance. He keeps his dark hair shorn close, however, since it tends to become curly, which he absolutely loathes.

He gives himself a final look in the mirror, collects his phone and inprocessing file, and heads to the building indicated in his orders. He rides the elevator to the tenth floor and locates the correct office.

He stops at the reception desk and says, “Gabriel Reyes, for Colonel Lawrence.”

The woman at the desk tells him that the Colonel is expecting him and to go right in. The door is open and inside, he can see the man he has admired and worshiped since he was a child, sitting there like a mere mortal, sipping a cup of coffee and reading something. He takes a deep breath and attempts not to puke as he enters the man’s presence. Thankfully he succeeds, and their introduction goes quite well.

“Ah, Gabriel!” the old Colonel says affably, rising to shake his hand. “You’re finally with us. How’d they treat you over at the Farm?”

“Very well, sir,” Gabe says, taking the indicated seat. “Thank you.”

“Good to hear,” Lawrence says. “Now, we do things a little different around here, so don’t expect a very predictable schedule at first. Your team isn’t fully assembled yet. We’re expecting six of you for this first go, and we’re still waiting on two. Once you’re all here, you’ll be fully briefed together. For now, you boys are going to be working on learning the ins and outs of what we do, and getting acquainted with each other. Before I hand you off to Special Agent Shearwater, do you have any questions for me?”

“Aside from what it is I’ll actually be doing here, sir, I can’t really think of a thing.”

“Well, all will be revealed soon enough. And Gabriel, we are very pleased to have you with us. I’m glad you changed your mind.”

“I am too, sir. Thank you very much. It’s an honor to be working for you.”

“I appreciate it, son,” the old colonel says, smiling warmly.

He pushes a button on his desk, and a moment later, the young man with the polo and khakis appears.

“Alright Gabriel, you run along with Shearwater. He’ll take you to the other boys and give you a rundown of the plan for today.”

Gabe rises, and with more thanks and another shake of his childhood hero’s hand, he follows the young agent down the hall. The man tells Gabe about the functions of the personnel in each section as they walk, till they wind up in a large, comfortably furnished room that looks more like a library than a government office. At the far end of the room, gathered around a low, dark wood table, are the three members of the team that have arrived so far. They have a large, blue and white schematic of some kind unfolded on the table between them, and are discussing it with intense interest. Shearwater calls out to them as he and Gabe approach. They turn to greet Gabe, and introductions are made.

At least, that is what Gabe assumes is happening. Two of the men shake his hand and say things he doesn’t hear in the least. He doesn’t even register their faces. All he can see is those cold, beautiful, sapphire-blue eyes, gazing at him from that perfect face. The only face in the world that matters. Jack’s face.


	18. Loyalty

Everything is fine. Just remember to breathe. Breathe in. Breathe out. Hold out your hand. Breathe in. Say something.

“Major Reyes.”

Breathe out. Good. Heart rate steady. Breathe in. Say something else.

“It’s nice to be working with you again.”

Breathe out. You are looking at him too long. Breathe in. Look away. Look away, now. Breathe out.

“That’s right, you two took Andreev’s class together a couple years ago,” Special Agent Shearwater says.

“That’s right,” Gabe replies stiffly. “Likewise, Major Morrison.”

“We took Andreev’s class, too,” one of the other men says. Temple is his name. “Not at the same time, but it’s kind of the common thread between us.”

“Yeah,” the one named Miller agrees. “We’re starting to think it’s a recruiting system.”

They look at Agent Shearwater. He smiles slyly.

“All I can say is that Major Andreev and Colonel Lawrence go way back,” he tells them. “Like, Cold War-era way back.”

“Wasn’t Andreev a Russian spy?” Temple says.

“Yes he was,” Shearwater replies. “But he was what people like to call a double-agent. He was working for the CIA from within the GRU Spetsnaz, assisting with HUMINT in the USSR. That’s how he and Colonel Lawrence met, actually. It’s an interesting story, if you want to ask the boss about it some time. But right now, let’s get back to business. Agent Reyes, I’m sure you’re familiar with the HALO and HAHO methods of personnel insertion, but today, you should all refresh yourselves on the technique and procedures. There are manuals, books, anything you need in here, and obviously, you have free access to the agency’s databases on those terminals.” He indicates to a bank of computers along the opposite wall. “Otherwise, get acquainted with each other, and I’ll be back around noon to get you for lunch. Except you, Reyes. The boss likes to take new arrivals out to lunch on their first day. Oh, and there are coffee and snacks through there. If you have any questions before then, grab Agent Carlisle, and she’ll call me. Ok?”

The men say ok, and Shearwater leaves them to their review.

Gabe watches Jack from the corner of his eye. Jack moves back to the table and begins to fold up the large schematic of what appears to be a surface-to-air recovery system. A black knot of rage begins to tighten itself in Gabe’s gut. What the fuck is he doing here. Just folding up a diagram. Like it’s totally normal to make an utter shipwreck of another human and then say, hey, nice to be working with you again. _Nice_. Someone is talking to him.

“What did you do before, Reyes?” It’s Miller.

“Hm? Oh, Battlefield Surveillance Brigade. What about you guys?”

“I was an NSA codebreaker,” Miller says, “and Temple was a SEAL.”

“Really? What was a codebreaker doing in Andreev’s class?”

“That’s what I wanted to know,” Miller replies.

“You didn’t sign up for it?”

“No. I got invited. I thought it was a mistake at first, but my boss called the training command and they said it was no mistake. I don’t know how they talked her into it, but she let me go.”

“None of us signed up for it,” Temple says. “I mean Morrison and Miller and I. Did you?”

“Nope. Got invited too,” Gabe says. “I guess it makes sense in retrospect.”

Jack walks away with the folded schematic and places it on a shelf. He begins to browse through the books and pulls a few out. Gabe and the other two men take seats at the table.

“I was surprised to hear that you and Morrison weren’t special forces,” Temple says to Gabe. “You must’ve done something to impress them.”

“I don’t know,” Gabe tells him. “I applied and got rejected twice. I wasn’t going to apply again, but then Lawrence called me and said he’d had his eye on me and wanted me to reconsider. Even sent some guys to talk to me.”

“No shit? Then you must’ve really impressed him.”

Jack rejoins the group, dropping a stack of books onto the table and taking a seat beside Gabe.

“Here are some HALO and HAHO manuals,” he says. “I just grabbed them so we can look busy.”

“Aren’t we supposed to be reviewing?” Miller says with a smirk.

“Any of you feel like you need a refresher?” Jack asks. The men laugh. “I didn’t think so. I don’t think that’s what we’re supposed to be doing anyway.”

“How’s that?” Temple wants to know.

“I think he’s right,” Gabe says. “Lawrence and Shearwater both used the phrase ‘get acquainted with each other.’ I think that’s really what we’re meant to do.”

Jack nods, but Gabe doesn’t look at him. The men sit in silence for a moment.

“What are we here for?” Jack says, looking about at them. “I think that’s what we start with. Why us, specifically? I mean, if we were all invited to Andreev’s class, then they were watching us before that.”

“Well, we’ve got a SEAL, a codebreaker, and two combat snoops,” Temple offers. “What kind of team is that?”

“An incomplete one,” Jack says. “We’d need to know who the other guys are to make that kind of triangulation. What do we have in common aside from Andreev’s class?”

The four men work on this problem, arriving at no satisfactory conclusion, till the topic begins to exhaust everyone and they fall to thumbing through the HALO/HAHO manuals in a dilatory fashion.

Gabe can think of nothing but the blonde Marine sitting to his right. He flips through three separate manuals without seeing a single page of any of them. Jack’s presence is weighing him down, crushing the breath from his lungs, invading every cell of his body. Out of sheer anxiety to get out of there and just think for a minute, he excuses himself to the lounge to get a cup of coffee.

He finds a coffee maker and plucks a mug from a wall hook behind it. He is leaning against the counter sipping a steaming black liquid that is similar in some ways to actual coffee, when the door swings slowly open. He watches Jack’s boots approach and stop before the coffee maker. He can’t bring himself to look into the man’s face.

“That’s a nice mug,” Jack says. He is trying to sound casual, but his voice is thin and strained.

Gabe glances at his mug. It says #1 DAD in blue, comic-sans typeface. He grunts an acknowledgement without looking up at his interlocutor, and moves to depart. Jack lays a hand on his arm. The touch sends an electric charge through Gabe’s body. His heart runs ragged and he can’t breathe. He yanks his arm away, splashing hot coffee over the rim of the mug onto his hand. He doesn’t feel it.

“Don’t,” he growls. “Don’t touch me, Jack.”

“Gabe, please, just—”

Gabe exits the room abruptly, not giving him a chance to finish the sentence. Jack stands staring after him for a long moment. Then he pulls some brown paper towels out of a dispenser above the sink, and kneels down to wipe up the spilled coffee from the white tiles. He returns to the table a few minutes later, coffee in hand, appearing as if he hasn’t a care in the world. This agitates Gabe further, and he withdraws into himself, hiding his distress in a HALO manual. He is in this condition when Colonel Lawrence strolls into the room. The men jump to their feet to greet him.

“Ah, belay that nonsense,” the old man says. “We ain’t regulars anymore. All your jumpin’ to attention’s gonna do is get me sniped. Gabriel, you hungry?”

“Yes, sir,” Gabe says.

“Glad to hear it, cause I’m takin’ you to lunch with me. You ready?”

“Yes, sir, thank you.”

The two men ride the elevator to the lobby and exit the building. Gabe asks where they’re going. The Colonel says it’s a little deli just down the corner, which he frequents and has excellent pastrami. As they walk, Gabe is struck by how muscular and physically fit the older man appears to be. In fact, he looks quite a bit younger than Gabe should have expected, considering his age. He thinks the better of mentioning this, however, and limits his remarks to inane small-talk till they are seated and looking over their menus.

The Colonel recommends the Reuben, which they both order. Gabe sips the excellent coffee the waitress has brought and attempts to appear at ease. Now that he actually has a chance to speak with the man whose legendary heroism has influenced him so significantly, he is entirely at a loss for what to say. Fortunately, the Colonel doesn’t leave it up to him.

“So, Gabriel,” he says. “What made you join the Army?”

“Tradition, sir,” Gabe says. “My father served, and his father, and his father before him.”

“That’s right,” the Colonel replies thoughtfully. “Lt. Colonel Olivér Ignacio Reyes.”

“Yes, sir,” Gabe says, somewhat taken aback. “How do you know that?”

“Well, son, your daddy’s name ain’t a difficult bit of info to nose out,” the old man laughs. “But I think you’ll find there ain’t much I don’t know about you.”

“I don’t know if I should be worried,” Gabe says with an uneasy laugh.

“Only if you think you’ve got somethin’ to hide that I ain’t figured out yet,” the Colonel says.

He’s grinning in a jocular manner, but there is something in his bright green eye. A keenness. A penetrating quality that makes Gabe feel as if the old man can see right through him into the core of his mind.

“Well, that depends on what you know already,” Gabe says, smiling feebly.

“I know you don’t do it for the money,” the Colonel replies coolly. “I know you and your children and their children’s children won’t work a single day from necessity. And I know about you and Jack Morrison.”

Gabe’s heart stops. The older man’s fierce, intelligent eye holds him spellbound. He can’t even muster the will for a denial. He just sits there staring dumbly back into those daunting green eyes.

At last he manages to choke out, “What—what about me and Jack Morrison?”

“I know you spent a weekend together at a little place called the Hotel Michelangelo. I know you had seafood paella for dinner and he had a steak. I know you went home with him after Andreev’s class, and I know you stuck around after his daddy passed. I know y’all stopped speakin’ about two years ago, but you still keep in touch with his sister, though I don’t think he knows that.”

“Fuck.”

“It’s alright, Gabriel. Like I said, we ain’t regulars here. Those rules don’t apply to us the same way. Thank you darlin’, it looks wonderful.”

This last bit is addressed to the waitress, who has delivered their food. The Colonel picks up a french fry and munches it before he begins again.

“Son, the reason I was hesitant to take you on is because you’re a lone wolf type. Now, a lone wolf is still a dangerous predator in his own right, but a lone wolf is vulnerable. He don’t have the pack to protect him and watch his back. Now, Morrison may seem like a loner to you, but he’s a pack animal through and through. He thrives on the dynamic of the group. Unfortunately for him, there ain’t a lot of packs that deserve a leader like him. That’s what I’m building here. Morrison is the keystone to this entire team. I brought you on because I think you ain’t happy being a lone wolf no more. I think you’re lookin’ for that one thing that’s worth being loyal to. And I think Morrison is that for you.”

“You—you brought me on because you think I’m…loyal to Jack?”

“Among other reasons,” the Colonel says, taking a bite of his sandwich. “But primarily, yes. I think he’s your one thing. You don’t care about your folks’ money. You don’t live like a rich man. Hell, you ain’t even been back to the estate in a decade. It ain’t your own life, either. I’ve seen your service records and heard the words of men that knew you. You are brave to the point of recklessness. Past the point. You are the kind of man Morrison needs by his side. Lookin’ out for him. Willing to dive on a grenade for him without stoppin’ to think it over. And he’s the kind of man you need by yours. A man who’s worth your loyalty.”

The Colonel pauses and sips his soft drink, still holding Gabe’s eyes with his.

“Would you do that, son? If the chips was down and it come to a choice, would you be willing to give up your own life to save his?”

“Absolutely,” Gabe says.

The word comes out of his mouth reflexively, without a millisecond of hesitation. He is surprised by the sound of his own voice and gives a little start. The Colonel laughs his big, hearty laugh and appears to be exceedingly pleased.

“Good,” he says. “Good. That’s what I was hoping to hear. Eat your food before it gets cold!”


	19. Silver Star

Gabe picks up his sandwich and begins to eat it mechanically. He gets through about three bites before he’s too sick to eat any more, and sets it down.

“Sir,” he says. “I need to ask you something.”

“Shoot,” the Colonel says cheerfully.

“I…I need to know if the only reason I’m here, finally, in the job I’ve always wanted, is because of Jack Morrison.”

The colonel looks at him closely for a moment. “Son, do you recall what I said to you on the telephone when I called to talk to you about this thing?”

“Somewhat.” 

“I’ll refresh you. I told you it wouldn’t work without you on board. Jack’s just as little use to me without you as you’d be without him. I need you both. The reason I’ve tagged Morrison as the leader is because of his natural ability to galvanize a group and to consider the best interests of everyone involved. That don’t mean he’s more important. It just means he has a different role.”

“What is my role?”

“I need you to be the iron hand in that velvet glove, Gabriel. Morrison’s too vulnerable to assaults on his compassion.”

“Compassion,” Gabe says with a dubious snort.

The older man raises an eyebrow. “I’m startin’ to think you don’t know your friend as well as you think. What do you know about his service?”

“He doesn’t talk about himself much. I know he’s seen combat. And that he got some sort of special commendation that got him promoted early.”

“He should’ve had a Congressional Medal of Honor,” the Colonel says. “They gave him a Silver Star and a promotion instead. He was with a recon unit in the Central African Republic. His unit was ambushed by hostiles in jungle somewhere. Most of ‘em were shot. Morrison and five others were taken and tortured for two days. He was the only officer alive, so they decided to bring him to their bosses. He managed to get loose of his guards and escape when he was being transported. Then, instead of getting the fuck out of Dodge, he went back to the camp and rescued the three of his men they hadn’t executed yet. The most impressive part is that he did it without killin’ any of the hostiles.”

“How? And, if you don’t mind my asking, why?”

“The hostiles that ambushed his unit were mostly child soldiers.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“And all the prophets,” the Colonel says, shaking his head. “He got grabbed in the first place because he wouldn’t fire his weapon at a child. So you see why I say he’s too vulnerable to compassion.”

“I…I do see. What happened to the child soldiers?”

“Morrison led an assault unit back to the location by sight. They tear-gassed the little fuckers and scooped ‘em up safe and sound.”

“By sight?” Gabe says, incredulous.

“Yep,” the colonel replies. “I’m tellin’ you there’s more to your friend than you think, Gabriel.”

“I guess there is. Jesus. He’s a war hero.”

“Well, you are too.”

Gabe shakes his head, as if to deny the compliment. Then he says, “Sir, one more question, if I might?”

“Sure, son.”

“When you asked him to be part of this team, did you tell him I was going to be on it?”

“We didn’t tell him jack-shit,” the colonel says. “We didn’t get a chance. Morrison came to us.”

This idea is so loaded with implications and more questions, that Gabe’s mind almost rejects it outright.

All he can think to say in response is, “Oh.”

“Listen son, I don’t know what happened between you two, and it ain’t my business so far as it don’t affect the team. But I need both of you and I need you workin’ together. So if you could do me a favor and bury the hatchet, I’d be very much obliged.”

The Colonel’s tone is congenial and pleasant, but there is something in it that makes it very clear to Gabe that this is not a request.

“Yes, Colonel,” he says. “Of course, sir.”

“Outstanding. And this is just a matter of personal taste, but I’ve been officially retired for a while, so most people around here have dropped the Colonel business and just call me boss.”

“Got it, boss,” Gabe says. “But, there is one little thing.”

“What’s that, son?”

“It was scallop risotto. Not seafood paella.”

The Colonel laughs and claps him on the back as they exit the deli.

Back in the study room, Gabe finds Jack and the others already arrived from their lunch, which they had in the building’s cafeteria downstairs. His mind is racing with all of the things the Colonel told him, and he is barely able to engage in the conversation. He sees Jack cast an apprehensive glance in his direction once or twice, but he can’t bring himself to make eye contact. Not yet. Not when this is all so raw and new. Not while the fresh wound of unexpectedly seeing him again is still bleeding him out this way. At least not in the presence of these other men, who he just met today, and to whom he is not inclined to reveal his deepest secrets.

Special Agent Shearwater arrives at 16:00 to tell them they can pack it up for the day. Much to Gabe’s consternation, Jack departs hastily and without a word. He sighs and heads for his temporary lodging. He’s not going to go after Jack. He’ll be damned if after the heartless, abrupt way Jack ended things, after the two years of silence, he’ll be knocking on Jack Morrison’s door like a god damned beggar. Besides, he doesn’t even know where Jack is staying. He paces to and fro for a while, then decides he better see about dinner.

The temp lodging is essentially an extended-stay hotel, and there is a white visitor-information binder on the dresser. It contains a tab labeled “Dining.” Gabe turns to that section and browses the selection of local restaurants. A place called “Imperial Palace” looks promising and offers delivery, so he calls and places an order. He gets out of the shower and puts on his black athletic pants and a black t-shirt. A few minutes later, there is a sharp rap at his door. He grabs his wallet and opens the door.

“Reyes?” The man says, holding aloft two plastic bags full of containers.

“That’s right,” Gabe says.

“Thirty-four fifty,” the man says.

Gabe pays him, thanks him, and takes the bags. He is about to shut the door, when Jack appears on the steps leading to his porch. He’s wearing jeans and boots, and a black hooded jacket over a white t-shirt.

“Gabriel, can we talk?” he says quietly.

Gabe nods curtly and goes inside, leaving the door open for Jack to enter. Jack follows him, shutting the door behind him. Gabe sets the food down on the kitchen counter. He crosses his arms and looks at Jack expectantly. Jack lowers his eyes and looks down at his hands, fidgeting anxiously. His hair is a little longer now, making its pale blondeness appear brighter than ever. He looks healthy and well-rested, and more beautiful than Gabe recalls him ever looking before. This irritates him and he grows impatient.

“Well?” he says gruffly.

Jack gives a start and looks up at him.

“You wanted to talk,” Gabe says. “Talk.”

“I…I don’t know what to say.”

“Perfect. Why don’t you start with why you fucking dumped me over a fucking text message after everything we—”

“Wait, what?” Jack interrupts. “I dumped you over a text message? What the fuck do you mean?”

Gabe yanks his phone out of his pocket and opens their message history. He crosses to Jack and pushes the phone into his face. Jack takes it and scrolls through the conversation. He holds the phone up for Gabe to look at, tapping the screen with his forefinger.

“Look, Gabriel,” he says. “Look at what you said to me. You said ‘how it would end.’ Right there.”

“And you said yes!”

“But…you…you said it was how it would end,” Jack says, growing increasingly agitated. “You—you wanted it to be over. I thought…that was what you meant.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Jack,” Gabe says, almost shouting. “I wasn’t telling you I wanted it to end, I was asking you if it was ending.”

“I…you said you missed me. You were sad and it was me making you sad. I—I wanted to stop hurting you, Gabe. I just wanted to stop hurting you.”

Jack’s voice is wavering and tears begin to fill his brilliant blue eyes. He sits down on the corner of Gabe’s bed.

“Gabe, I—I said I was sorry for hurting you. I asked you to forgive me. You—you never said anything to me again.”

“Jack,” Gabe says, attempting to modulate his voice to a civil volume. “You thought that when I said I missed you, that I was telling you that you were hurting me?”

Jack nods. The welling tears break free from his eyes and roll down his pale cheeks.

“And you didn’t respond that first time, when I said I missed you because?”

“Because I was in pain, Gabe,” Jack says pleadingly. “My father died. I thought…it was cruel of you. To accuse me of hurting you when I was in so much pain.”

Gabe’s entire body is tense. He has to control himself carefully. He slowly, deliberately walks toward Jack and stops a step or two away.

“Jack,” he says. His voice is hoarse and strained.

Jack looks up. There are tears on Gabe’s face, too.

“Jack,” he repeats. “Tell me we didn’t do this to each other. Tell me we didn’t waste two years of our lives in this horrible, stupid way. Tell me we didn’t leave each other bleeding on the battlefield all alone because of a fucking misunderstanding. Tell me that, Jack. Because if we did, I don’t think I can take it. I don’t think I’ll ever—” his voice chokes. “I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself.”

Jack buries his face in his hands to hide his impending emotional outburst. But Gabe’s strong arms close around him. Lift him up. Squeeze him so tight he can’t breathe. He doesn’t care. He’ll happily die this way. Gabe lowers himself into the bed, holding Jack against his body. Jack buries his face in Gabe’s neck and weeps. His body racks with hoarse sobs as years of pain, years of empty, aching solitude, all force their way out at once. But Gabe’s arms are around him. Keeping him safe. Anchoring him to something solid and real. Gabe is stroking his hair, whispering soothing words. Rocking him like a child. Jack weeps until he’s exhausted, then lies still on Gabe’s chest, listening to his beating heart. Gabe holds him and lets him fall asleep that way. He’ll be damned if he ever lets go again.


	20. Don Julio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. This is a long one...

“Are you ready?”

“I think so. No. One more drink.”

“Nope, get back here. One more drink and you won’t be able to talk.”

“Talking is hard. Can’t we just have sex?”

“No, that’s—hey! Stop that. That’s what got us into all of this trouble in the first place. You agreed to this, so no trying to back out. We are going to talk to each other about ourselves, Jack. Like normal human people in a…a relationship.”

“That sounded difficult,” Jack says with an impish grin. “Didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”

“A little, yeah,” Gabe replies, returning the smile. He takes a sip of his tequila.

“Wait, why do you get to drink more?”

“Because I can hold my liquor and you, my love, are already drunk.”

“You’re drunk,” Jack grumbles.

“Spoken like a man who is drunk,” Gabe says. “I’ll start. It’ll give you time to sober up a little.”

“Gabe, do we really have to do this right now?”

“Do you ever want to have sex with me again?”

Jack flops backward onto Gabe’s bed, arms spread in a gesture of surrender. Gabe sits cross-legged beside him and pats his stomach.

“Sit up. You’ll fall asleep.”

Jack pulls himself up and sits against the headboard. “Ok. I’m ready.”

“Alright. Fucking strap in, sweetheart, because it’s going to get rough.”

“I’m listening, Gabe. I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok.” Gabe takes a deep breath. He looks into his glass and swirls it slowly. “So…I had a family. I do not have one now. I had a mother and a father, and five siblings. Three brothers and two sisters. My youngest brother was still just a baby. My whole family, all seven of them, were killed all at once in a train wreck. I survived. Just me. I was twelve years old. My ribs were almost all broken, my arms, my left leg, my eye socket was fractured, and I lost some teeth. My face was lacerated by flying bits of glass and metal.” He touches the right side of his face. “These scars are all I have left of my family.”

“Gabe…” Jack leans forward and takes his hand. “I’m so sorry. It must have been excruciating for you to be around my family like that. I wish I had known.”

“I didn’t tell you.” Gabe shakes his head. “You had no way of knowing. But it wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. They made me feel welcome. It was sort of like having a family again.”

He takes a long breath and a deep draught of his tequila, then he resumes.

“Anyway, my parents were…wealthy. Very wealthy. After they died, some relatives of my father showed up and tried to assume custody of me. My family’s attorneys believed that they were trying to get their hands on the money, and I was inclined to agree. So, we fought a long, tedious court battle and won. I was declared an emancipated minor, under modifying conditions. My family’s attorneys were to act as my legal guardians until I was eighteen, at which time I would assume full control of the family’s assets as the sole heir. My lawyers filed injunctions against my father’s relatives attempting to contact me or interfere with me in any way, and I moved on alone.

My attorneys acted as my guardians, but besides making sure I completed my primary and secondary education, they didn’t intrude much into my day-to-day life. So, I was raised mostly by housekeepers and private tutors. I finished my high school education at sixteen, and then I started acting out. Picking fights, drinking, that kind of thing. My lawyers had to get involved when I got arrested for underage drinking and assault. They made the charges disappear, but they kept a more vigilant eye on me after that. And they did the best thing anyone could have done for me.

As an outlet for my aggression, they hired a boxing instructor for me. I thought it sounded fun and would be cool, like in the movies. I didn’t know it would be an entirely life-changing experience. My boxing instructor, Jeremy Jordan, he showed up and fucking ran my life. He made me get up early, he made me run, he made me eat right, all those things. He didn’t tell me to stop drinking, but he didn’t have to. Running at six in the morning with a hangover was worse punishment than anything he could have threatened me with.

We started with theory and exercises and bags, and he started taking me to a gym to spar with other guys. JJ became my idol right away. He was so tough and self-disciplined and just _cool_. At some point, it casually came up that the Muay Thai instructor at the gym was JJ’s boyfriend. No big deal. No big announcement. It was just a fact. I was totally floored. I thought, if guys like JJ and Sunny were gay, maybe it wasn’t so bad. Maybe my parents were wrong, you know?

So, I was in the best shape of my life, feeling better about myself than ever, and I’d just turned eighteen. I didn’t have to keep up the boxing, but I wanted to, so I did. There was another kid my age, Adam, who boxed at our gym with his older brother. Adam and I would spar sometimes. We got to being friendly, and sometimes he’d come to my house to hang out after the gym. Don’t read too much into this, but…he was a white kid. Blonde, blue-eyed, all that. The first time I had sex was with him. He wasn’t my boyfriend or anything, but we’d hang out and and play video games and also fuck.

Anyway, from what I understood later, I guess his older brother got a hold of his cell phone and saw some of our messages. He got a bunch of guys together to jump me. I was big for my age and a pretty competent boxer, but so were they, and there were five or six of them. I wasn’t any match for a group like that. They grabbed me outside the gym. They called me a fucking faggot and beat the shit out of me and left me bleeding on the sidewalk. They told me if I ever talked to Adam again, they’d kill me. I wasn’t really scared, but I was completely humiliated. I dragged myself back to my car, went home, and never went back.

I started drinking again. I fired JJ and I ignored all his calls and messages. Then I went off to Cal Tech. I drank like I was trying to die, I fucked as many women as I could, and I was on academic probation twice. I got my bachelor’s in CS by the skin of my teeth.”

“What made you choose computer science?” Jack asks. “That doesn’t really seem like you.”

“My family had a tradition of military service, and my plan was to use the degree to join the Army as an officer. My great, great grandparents believed that it was our duty to defend the country that had made our family so prosperous. A Reyes man from each generation served in the Army. My father did, and my older brother would probably have been next. But there was no one left but me, now. So I honored the tradition and joined. It was the first time I was ever really happy. I was good at what I did, I was good at military life, it was everything I needed. My inspiration, the reason for the job I chose and the career I wanted, was none other than Colonel Thomas Lawrence, who is our boss now.”

Gabe looks up at Jack, who has sobered up considerably by this time, and is gazing intently at him.

“So, that’s me,” he says. “Now you know all about me. I’m sorry it’s nothing particularly interesting or exciting.”

“It’s…you,” Jack says. “There’s nothing that could be more interesting to me. But, Gabe…why did you have sex with women if you knew you were gay?”

“I think I was trying to prove to myself that I wasn’t. That it had just been a phase and I wasn’t really like that. I still struggle with it now. I’m thirty-four years old, I’m in love with a man, and I still have a hard time with it.”

“Why?”

“I was raised very strict Catholic, and with my family, there was no such thing as an open-minded attitude toward homosexuality. So, when I started to develop that way, I thought the way I was taught: it was something wrong with me. I was sick. And I didn’t have anyone to teach me any different. The lessons we learn as children are hard to unlearn, Jack.”

“I guess I don’t understand because, if there’s no one it’ll hurt or who’ll be disappointed—” Jack breaks off, realizing too late how callous the words sound. He swallows hard and looks away.

“Don’t worry about it,” Gabe says. “I know what you mean. I think my parents being gone makes it harder, in a way. I can never come out to them and get their acceptance. It’s like I’m disappointing them forever.”

They sit in silence for a moment. Gabe opens the bottle of Don Julio and pours some into his glass. He takes a sip, then hands it to Jack.

“I thought I wasn’t allowed to drink anymore,” Jack says, smiling and taking it.

“Well, you might need it,” Gabe says. “It’s your turn to talk.”

“Fuck,” Jack says. He takes a sizeable draught of the golden-brown liquor. “I…don’t know where to start. What do you want to know?”

A strange, pained expression flickers across Gabe’s face and fades away. Jack does not see it, or if he does, he makes no sign.

“Tell me about your childhood,” Gabe says. “What were you like as a kid?”

Jack shrugs. “There’s nothing much to tell. I had a pretty normal childhood. My parents took good care of Molly and me. Dad was gone for a long time sometimes, but they didn’t have the same kind of deployment cycles back then, and men with families were allowed to homestead, so he was mostly with us.”

“Did you have a lot of friends?”

“No, I—why…why are you asking me that?” Jack says, suddenly uneasy.

“Molly told me you didn’t always have an easy time making friends.”

“No, I didn’t. But that was when I was a kid, Gabe,” Jack says, growing more agitated and fidgeting with his glass. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

Gabe lays a hand over Jack’s hands, arresting the nervous movement. Jack looks up at him.

“Jack, do you believe that I love you?”

“I do.”

“Then you have to let me in. It’s a two-way street. I can’t be…with you if you can’t trust me enough to let me know you.”

“I’m not…there’s nothing wrong with me, Gabe. I’m not mentally ill.”

“I don’t think you’re mentally ill, Jack. Look at me. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.”

Jack is nearly trembling with anxiety. He squirms fretfully under Gabe’s gaze.

“My mind works differently than other people’s. That’s all,” he says insistently. “I’m just not like other people.”

“I know you’re not, now. But, Jack, you’re so good at hiding the ways you’re different, that it’s hard for me to know how to understand you. If you had explained it to me, things may have been easier.”

“I thought if you knew…you wouldn’t—you wouldn’t love me anymore,” Jack says miserably.

“I love everything about you, Jack. I love you the way you are.”

“That can’t be true.”

“Why?”

Jack takes a deep breath, steadying himself for the plunge.

“Because I’m not normal,” he says. “My brain is fucked up and it makes me do fucked up things.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t…understand people. I mean, I understand their motives and thought processes, but not their feelings. Molly says I can’t empathize appropriately. I have spent my life learning to cope with it, and I am a lot better at it now, but I have never been good at making friends, and I’m even worse at keeping them. Relationships, too. All the relationships I’ve ever had have ended badly. Really badly.”

“How so?”

“Ashley, the one who saw us at the park, I dated her from sophomore year to senior year because my ‘friends’ all told me I should. I didn’t really like her, but if I just kept my head down and smiled when she wanted me to, then it was pretty easy. When we were seniors, she started talking about plans for the future, with the assumption that we’d be married one day. I told her I had no intention of marrying anyone, and she flipped out and called my parents, saying she was worried about me and thought I was depressed or doing drugs. Of course my parents knew she was full of shit, but it really embarrassed me. I was furious, but I kept it bottled up and kept smiling.

She wanted to have sex with me on prom night. She had this big plan to get a hotel room and all that stuff. Like it was some rite of passage or something. I didn’t want to do it, but she made me miserable talking about how unattractive she must be and how I was probably into someone else and how weird it was that I didn’t want to, till I gave up. I got the room and we did it. We had no idea what we were doing and it was awful. At first I couldn’t get hard and then I couldn’t come with the condom on...it was a mess.

Then it got worse. She said she loved me and I didn’t say it back. She got all shaky and panicked and asked why I wasn’t saying it. I told her I didn’t say it because I didn’t mean it. She cried and screamed at me and broke a lamp while I got dressed. Then she threw my letterman’s jacket off the balcony into the hotel pool. My keys were in it, so I had to fish it out of the pool in front of a bunch of strangers. She iced me out of social functions and talked shit about me to everyone we knew, but it was so much easier than being with her, I wished I’d done it a lot sooner.

It was similar in college, though not so bad. After I’d been at Indiana State for two terms, I met a girl in my poli-sci class named Mariana. She was different from the girls I knew back home. She was smart and funny and independent. I liked her. We dated for a while and it was nice. She started to worry about why I didn’t seem interested in sex, so I had sex with her to make her happy. It wasn’t nearly as bad as my first time with Ashley, but I didn’t really enjoy it. Then she said she loved me. I didn’t say it back. She confronted me about it on the quad and accused me of cheating on her. I said that was ridiculous. She asked why I was always texting with some girl, then. I said it was my sister and I showed her my phone. She took it and threw it into the fountain and we never talked again.

The next year, I met Joelle. She worked at the campus coffee shop. She was Japanese-American and had a nose ring and she was the coolest girl who’d ever spoken to me. She asked my name for my drink and I said Jack. She laughed and called me Kerouac. She asked if I’d come see her band, Free Wolves, play that night, and I said sure. They were an ultra-hip, all-Asian, punk rock band. I felt like such an asshole standing there by myself in that dark, grimy bar with a bunch of people with mohawks and piercings and tattoos looking at me like I was a narc. But she waved me over when they got done playing and introduced me to her band.

I liked her a lot. She was fun and wild and never seemed to need anything from me. She just had her own things going on and invited me along. We had sex often. She liked to get kind of rough with me and I enjoyed it. Just playful things like slapping me a little and biting me. But then things went bad, as usual. We had a condom break, and there was a big, horrible pregnancy scare and she cried a lot. It turned out to be nothing but it freaked her out. Right after that, she told me she loved me. I didn’t say it back. She said it was over between us, and was weirdly cool about it. Then campus security caught her trying to set fire to my car. After that, I didn’t date anyone else. All I did was make people suffer and it was too painful.”

“When did you start feeling attracted to men?”

“I…I don’t know. It was never a question of ‘am I attracted to men or women.’ I didn’t think it out that way. There were just certain people that…compelled me. Drew my interest. But I didn’t know what was happening to me, so it’s hard to quantify. In the poli-sci class where I met Mariana, there was a male teacher’s assistant who drew my interest in that intense, fixated way. But Mariana and I got partnered on a project and started dating, so nothing came of it. I never said more than two words to him.

Then…the drummer in Joelle’s band. I was interested in him, too. He was openly bisexual and the most attractive person I’d ever seen, male or female. But I don’t think the attraction was mutual. Also, I think Joelle was on to me, because she made a couple of half-joking suggestions that the three of us should play together. Of course, I was terrified by the very idea, so I made sure I was careful not to pay attention to him anymore.”

“Joelle sounds pretty cool.”

“She was, until she dumped kerosene all over my car,” Jack says, with a rueful laugh. “But that was my fault. That’s what I do. I let people love me and then I hurt them because I can’t love them back.”

Jack sits gazing at the liquor in his glass. He can feel Gabe’s eyes on him. His stomach knots with anxiety. He knows what is coming next and that there is nothing he can do to stop it. He finishes the tequila and begins to roll the glass back and forth in his hands.

“Jack,” Gabe says. “Is that why you did what you did to me? Did you hurt me because you couldn’t love me back?”

“No, no, I didn’t,” Jack says, shaking his head vehemently. “I told you what happened. I told you what I meant and—”

“I know what you told me,” Gabe cuts him off. “But is that really what happened, or what you’ve convinced yourself happened?”

“It’s…it’s what I thought…” He trails off and plays with his glass.

Gabe takes the glass away, then holds Jack’s hands in his, keeping them physically still.

“Sweetheart, I’m not angry with you,” he says. “I just need to understand what is going on in your head.”

“You aren’t angry…you aren’t angry with me?” Jack says slowly.

His sapphire-blue eyes light up and spark, and his face flushes with sudden emotion. He yanks his hands out of Gabe’s grasp and jumps up out of the bed.

“You aren’t angry with me, Gabriel? Fuck you!”

Gabe sits frozen in place, dumbstruck by the abrupt alteration in Jack’s demeanor.

“My father fucking died and you abandoned me. You abandoned me. You told me you loved me in my parents house on the day of my father’s funeral. You stayed with my family while we mourned him. My mother and sister accepted you as one of us. Then you left and I didn’t hear a word from you for twelve days. Twelve days. Then after that, seventeen more days. I was alone and grieving and you let me bleed, Gabe. You let me bleed alone.” Jack takes a breath to still his shaking voice. “When you did talk to me, I could see that you were in pain, too. It was hurting us both and it would have killed us to continue that way. So I tried to do the right thing and let you go. But I never stopped loving you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me all of this the other night when we first talked about it, Jack? Why did you lie to me?”

“I…I don’t know,” Jack says, clutching the sides of his head. “There’s something going wrong in my brain. I can’t explain it. It’s like half the time I know what’s real and how things were, and half the time there’s this…fog over it and I can’t make sense of it.” He looks up at Gabe with his blue eyes wide and wild. “Maybe I am mentally ill, Gabe. Maybe I’m going insane. Everything seems so different now.”

“Get a hold of yourself, Jack,” Gabe says firmly, but not unkindly. “I don’t think you’re going insane. Tell me what you mean.”

“I gave up my job. I changed my entire career and came here on the desperate, stupid hope that I’d see you again one day. I can’t reconcile that person, the person I think I am, the way I know I feel about you, with what I did to you. I just…want things to be alright between us again. I can’t take the idea that you might not forgive me.”

“Well, it seems like your perception is getting clearer. That’s not usually a sign of insanity.”

“No, it’s not,” Jack says, calming down somewhat.

“So you were angry with me,” Gabe says.

“No…I—I don’t know.”

“Yes. You thought I abandoned you, and you were angry with me for letting you hurt all alone. So you cut me off, thinking the only way to save yourself was to cauterize the wound immediately. That I understand, Jack. That makes sense. Your layers of self-deception and circular logic, however, those do not make sense. You forget, I do know you. I know how intelligent you are and I know how you deal with pain. I didn’t believe it when you said it.”

“Then why did you pretend to believe me?” Jack’s voice is trembling and his eyes begin to fill. “Why did you say we those things to me? About how we wasted two years of our lives over a misunderstanding?”

“Because I do think you believed it. Or rather, I think you needed to believe it. It would have been cruel of me to make you face up to it right then, in all the stress of seeing each other again after so long. And, to be perfectly honest, I don’t think I could’ve taken it either. I needed to hold you and feel you close to me so badly, I couldn’t deal with anything else.” Gabe pats the bed beside him. “Come here.”

Jack sits, and Gabe wraps an arm around him.

“We did waste two years over a misunderstanding,” he says. “We hurt each other and we were angry with each other, and we both had every right to be. But Jack, those bad feelings, those difficult, complicated, negative things, they don’t mean we can’t still love each other.”

“They don’t?”

“Of course not,” Gabe says, smiling sadly. “I think they mean the opposite, in fact. But I think that also means we’ll have to earn each other’s trust back.”

“How?” Jack asks, drawing back to look into Gabe’s face.

“I don’t know. But I’m willing to give it a try, if you are.”

“Yes, yes, of course I am. You’re the whole reason I’m here.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re the reason I’m here, too,” Gabe says in an undertone.

“You…knew I was here?”

“No. They didn’t tell me.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“Jack…what has Colonel Lawrence told you about what we’re doing here?”

 


	21. Something Different

“I arrived first,” Jack says. “So I spent most of my day alone, reading about the Afghan Mujahideen during the Cold War. Then the boss took me to lunch at the Madison Deli like he did with everyone. He asked a lot of mundane questions about my life and interests, but all he’d say about the job was that he was building a special team for a special purpose.”

“He told me that, too,” Gabe says, scratching his whiskers musingly.

Jack smiles. “I really like it.”

“What?”

“Your facial hair. It’s very…sexy.”

“Oh yeah?” Gabe smirks. “I thought it made me look tough and dangerous.”

“Those things are sexy. You’re a very handsome man, Gabe.”

“You flirting with me, Morrison?”

“A little. How am I doing?”

Gabe cocks an eyebrow. “I’ll let you know later. Did the boss say anything else to you?”

“Yeah. He said I’d be the youngest man on the team, but not to let the other guys push me around, because he wanted me to lead it. He also told me the names of my team members. Barrett, Miller, Temple, Yun, Reyes. I noticed he put your name last, even though he listed the others alphabetically.”

“Did you mention it?”

“I didn’t have to. He said, ‘I believe you know Gabriel Reyes. Y’all took a CQC class from Aleksei Andreev together a couple years back.’ I said that was correct, and we didn’t talk any more about it.”

“That sneaky motherfucker,” Gabe says. “What is he up to?”

“What did he say to you?”

“He told me he knew all about you and I.”

Jack pauses with his glass halfway to his lips. “Knew all about us how?”

“Everything. The hotel where we stayed in Kansas city, even what we fucking had for dinner. He knew I went with you to Cedar Rapids, too. It was unnerving, to say the least.”

“So, he—he knows we’re…whatever we are?”

“Apparently.”

“But if he knew about us, why did he hire us? Especially to work together?”

“That’s the thing. He made it pretty clear he didn’t give a shit that our relationship was more than platonic. He said we weren’t regulars anymore and those rules don’t apply to us. In fact, he politely suggested that we bury the hatchet.”

“I don’t like this,” Jack says, shifting uncomfortably. “Having our personal business exposed like this.”

“I don’t think it’s all that exposed. He is a career spy working for the CIA, so it’s not surprising that he’d be able to find out things like that. The impression I got was that he didn’t think it was anyone’s business that we’re fucking.”

“We’re not, though. I mean, not in a long time. We…don’t have to...”

“Oh, cariño,” Gabe says with a chuckle. “Do you really think we could do that? Be working together in the same place like this and not have sex?”

“Well…we haven’t yet.”

“It’s been four days, baby. And I spent two of those days sick out of my fucking mind from those vaccinations. They make you sick, too?”

“As death. Miller and Temple, too. I’ve had whole batteries of vaccines for overseas travel, and they always make you feel like shit, but I’ve never been sick like that.”

“Same here. It was brutal. What did you think of the doctor? What a fucking weirdo.”

“I can’t say,” Jack says. “She was pleasant and knowledgeable, but there did seem to be something odd about her. Do you think it’s a language barrier thing? The way she seems so…odd?”

“I don’t think so. She’s completely fluent, and speaking German or whatever doesn’t make you weird.”

“I think she said she was Swiss.”

“I didn’t ask her. She gave me the fucking creeps.”

“Aw, Gabe, come on. She was nice.”

“I know she _seemed_ nice. But that Florence Nightingale act…there’s something else behind it. She’s got ice water in her veins.”

“I suppose you have to, to be a combat medic. I couldn’t deal with the kind of stuff they see.”

“Maybe,” Gabe says. He reaches up to scratch his beard again, but Jack’s notice of it has made him self-conscious, and he stops himself. “You really like this? The facial hair?”

“I really like it,” Jack says, smiling softly.

“Well then I’ll keep it.”

“Gabe, are…are we ok? You and I?”

“We’re trying to be,” Gabe says. “I think that’s the best anyone can do.”

“Gabe?”

“Yes Jack?”

“Can I sleep here with you tonight?”

“I don’t know. What if I try to take advantage of you?”

“I am counting on it.”

“You little whore,” Gabe says with a shark-toothed grin. “Get over here.”

Jack feels an electric thrill at the (admittedly unorthodox) term of endearment. He’s instantly back in Kansas, sitting on that bench outside the PX, waiting anxiously for the man he doesn’t know he’s already in love with to come take him away. For the first time in years, he feels that giddy, nervous, butterflies-in-the-stomach sensation. His hand actually trembles as he reaches up to stroke Gabe’s whiskers. His heart pounds as Gabe leans down to kiss him. He gasps as the rough bristles of Gabe’s beard scrape his jaw, as their lips touch, as Gabe’s tongue caresses his. He falls backward. Gabe’s solid weight presses down on his body. He gives a long, shuddering sigh. A strong hand tightens around his throat. Then he is in that other space. Restrained, subdued, set free.

Gabe rolls him over onto his stomach. Lifts his hips. He feels Gabe’s hands creep around his waist and unbutton his fly, pull his jeans and underwear down. He’s lying facedown with his ass turned upward, exposed and presented to his lover. He groans and pushes back onto Gabe’s fingers as they slide in and out of his asshole.

“Fuck me,” he says. “Please, fuck me.”

“Be patient, cariño,” Gabe purrs. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I want you to. Fuck me, fuck me.”

He feels the hot, slick head of Gabe’s cock press against the sensitive rim of his asshole. Gabe pauses, hesitant to penetrate him so abruptly.

“Fuck me,” Jack says urgently. “Hurt me. I need you to. Please, Gabe. Please.”

The searing pain obliterates Jack’s mind as Gabe pushes slowly, firmly through the taut resistance, little by little, till he is inside him to the base. He keeps perfectly still, feeling Jack’s hot, tight asshole quiver and tremble on his hard cock. Jack claws the mattress with his fingernails as Gabe begins to thrust.

“Fuck…fuck, it hurts,” he groans through his teeth. “It hurts—don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

Gabe doubts he could stop if he tried. He is desperate, drunk with desire. He clutches Jack’s hips and thrusts harder, faster, almost viciously. Jack buries his face in the mattress, muffling his cries as Gabe pounds him so hard that the headboard knocks into the wall.

“I’m gonna come,” Gabe pants. “Ah…fuck—come for me, Jack. Come now.”

Jack comes. His ejaculation tears itself out of him and bursts all over the mattress in hot streams. Gabe is panting and shaking, repeating, “I love you. Jack, I love you,” throbbing and convulsing inside him as he comes. He falls down beside Jack and pulls him close.

“Oh no, Jack,” he says anxiously. “Don’t cry, baby. I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Jack says, smiling through his tears. “I’m ok. I just…I’m so happy, Gabe. I love you so much.”

Gabe gazes into Jack’s brilliant blue eyes. He smooths back his blonde hair and kisses his forehead, then his lips. “I love you, too, Jack.”

 

“How’re my boys getting on, Shearwater?”

It’s Monday morning at 0715, and the Colonel is already in his office when Shearwater bustles in with his coffee and daily briefings.

“Like a house on fire, boss,” the man says, dropping the files on the desk and carefully setting down the steaming mug.

“Good. How about Morrison and Reyes?” the Colonel asks, sipping his coffee. “They bury the hatchet?”

“Enthusiastically,” Shearwater responds with an ironic smirk.

“Really, now,” the older man says. “Well, good for them. I need them one hundred percent cohesive. The last ones will be here today, and we can finally get this show on the fucking road.”

“Boss, if I may?” Shearwater says.

“I got a feeling you’re going to anyway, so yes, you may.”

“Sir, is it…wise to anchor a team dynamic on an interpersonal relationship like this? Romantic attachments can be particularly volatile, especially when subjected to distress and change.”

“I understand your concern, son,” the Colonel says, “and normally, I’d call it well-founded. But this ain’t a normal case. I’m willing to bet those two boys aren’t half so volatile as they seem. Not when it comes to loyalty to each other.”

“I know better than to bet against you, boss, but what makes you so sure? I mean…they uh, they weren’t even speaking to each other when they arrived.”

“Well, I think you have to make an exception for Jack’s youth and inexperience, and the fact that his daddy had just died. But he came here lookin’ for Gabriel, sure as I’m sittin’ in this chair. Dropped his whole life and career and came after him. They’re…something different.”

“You know best, boss,” Shearwater says, going to the door.

“I do,” the Colonel says with a grin. “You’ll see.”

 

The Colonel’s boys are assembled in the study room pretending to read about the black market trade in Croatian arms in the Middle East, and actually speculating as to the identities of their new teammates, due to arrive any moment. All such conjecture is put to rest when the door swings open and Agent Shearwater enters, followed by two young women. The men hop to their feet to greet the agent and the new arrivals.

“Morning, gentlemen,” Shearwater says. “Ladies, I’d like to introduce you to the rest of your team.”

“Min-Ji Yun,” the first woman says, shaking the men’s hands as they introduce themselves in turn. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Lydia Barrett,” the other says, doing the same. Her voice is soft and husky, and she speaks with a posh British twang. “It’s a pleasure.”

Agent Shearwater gives the new members a rundown of the day’s activities and the amenities of the study similar to the one he gave Gabe. He departs, and the now complete team take seats at the table. Yun picks up a manual and eyes it dubiously before setting it back down.

“They don’t really think we need a refresher on the Croatian arms trade, do they?”

“I might,” Barrett says, taking it up. “I don’t know what all of you did before, but I’m a pilot. Us Blue Jobs don’t get much into the nitty-gritty of arms trafficking.”

“I don’t think they really mean for us to study these,” Jack says. “We think it’s kind of…busy work and we’re really intended to get to know each other.”

“Well, you gentlemen have the advantage, since you’ve been here together without us,” Barrett says, smiling at Jack. “So you should go first.”

“Jack Morrison. US Marines, light-armored recon battalion.”

“Gabriel Reyes,” Gabe says, following Jack’s lead. “US Army, battlefield surveillance brigade.”

“Kevin Miller. NSA codebreaker.”

“Ezra Temple. Navy SEAL.”

“Pretty impressive resumes,” Yun replies. “Min-Ji Yun, US Air Force, combat systems officer.”

“Lydia Barrett, RAF. If it gets airborne and has an engine, I can fly it.”

“You’re our outlier,” Jack says musingly.

“Outlier?” Barrett says, with mock indignation. “What, because I’m the only Brit?”

“I beg your pardon ma’am,” Jack says solemnly. “But that is the reason, yes. We’ve been trying to discover the common thread between all of us, other than Andreev’s CQC class. But Royal Air Force, that puts me out of reckoning.”

“Did you all win?” Yun says. “My team won the exercise at the end. I thought maybe that had something to do with it.”

“Jack and I did,” Gabe says. “We were on the same team. You guys?”

Miller shakes his head, Temple nods.

“And I didn’t take any CQC class at all,” Barrett says, “so I guess I really am the outlier.”

“So it’s not that,” Temple laughs. “Shit. I thought we cracked it.”

“Is anyone else dreadfully curious about just what it is we’re meant to be doing?” Barrett asks.

“You have no idea,” Miller says holding up his hands. “That’s basically all we talk about.”

“It’ll be international,” Jack offers. “We all had a battery of vaccinations for overseas travel.”

“Be prepared, by the way” Gabe adds. “They made us all sick as dogs.”

“Well it’s as simple as pie, then,” Barrett says. “They’re going to have me fly you all overseas, have the surveillance man identify the target, drop the SEAL and the recon man into an enemy LZ, and have Yun provide cover fire while they steal something that the codebreaker will have to cipher out. I’m a bit surprised you hadn’t got it worked out already.”

This produces a burst of laughter from the group, which sets everyone more at ease. They continue to chat in a comfortable, lively fashion, except for Jack, who sits silent and apparently deep in thought. Barrett leans over to Gabe, who is sitting on her left between her and Jack.

“He always so serious?” she asks in an undertone, nodding toward the blonde Marine.

“Pretty much,” Gabe says. “Don’t take it personally, though. He doesn’t really _get_ jokes.”

“Pity, since I consider myself to be very funny,” Barret says. “I’m also dying for a cigarette. Anywhere we can smoke around here?”

“I could use one myself if you don’t mind me joining you.”

“Not at all,” Barret says, smiling brightly. “Lead the way.”

 


	22. No Turning Back

“Hey Jack,” Gabe says, “I’m going to show Barrett the smoking patio.”

Jack looks up and nods distractedly, and the two depart. They ride the elevator to the top floor, then pass down a hallway to a metal door that reads “Roof Access.” They take a short flight of stairs to another door, which opens into a small rooftop lounge area. There are a couple of metal picnic tables beneath a Ramada and of course, abundant ashtrays. Gabe sits on a picnic table with his feet on the bench, and Barrett remains standing, gazing about and breathing deeply.

“This is my first time in the States,” she says, producing a flat, blue box from her jacket pocket. “It’s funny how it’s so different to the UK. It even smells different.”

“You missing that London fog?” Gabe says, lighting her cigarette for her.

“Not a bit of it,” she says. “I’m not from London, anyway. Don’t hold it against me, but I’m actually from Tunbridge Wells.”

“Ah,” Gabe says, raising an eyebrow. “Well, don’t hold it against me, but I’m from Beverly Hills.”

“We’re practically neighbors then!” Barrett laughs. “At least economically speaking. What made you join the military?”

“Family tradition. You?”

“Same. Papa was a pilot, too. He didn’t get the boy he always wanted, so he raised me to be the very best son I could be. I even followed in his footsteps and joined up. But I think my path has diverged somewhat, now.”

“How did you get involved in this, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Not at all. I flew Pumas in Afghanistan and got a Military Cross for it, though I was just doing my job, so it seemed a bit excessive. They made me a Squadron Leader, which is the same as a major in the States, though it sounds a deal cooler, and I was mostly stuck at Benson doing boring admin rubbish. Then one day I got a call from an American, saying he represented a certain organization within the CIA. He said they’d got their eye on me and were impressed, and would I be willing to meet his boss for a chat. I thought it was a load of tosh and I told him to sod off.

Two days later, my CO called me into his office. There was a gentleman with him who he introduced as Colonel Thomas Lawrence. I couldn’t fucking believe it. Lawrence, you know, he’s a living legend. I apologized for being rude to his man, but he laughed it off and said we were square. We went for a chat and he told me about this opportunity he had at the SOG. I’m a bit embarrassed, but he had to explain to me what that was. I was willing to take anything Lawrence wanted to offer, though, and I agreed immediately. My CO wasn’t exactly pleased to lose me, but he approved the transfer and after a few weeks, I was at the Farm getting trained. Now I’m here. I still don’t know what it’s all about, but the opportunity to work for Lawrence is enough for me.”

“I think that’s the general consensus,” Gabe says. “Lawrence has been a hero of mine for as long as I can remember.”

“Reyes, can I ask you something that might be a bit…indelicate?”

“Fire away,” Gabe says, smiling placidly.

“Well, the Colonel, doesn’t he seem a bit…young? I mean, he was a spy during the Cold War. His famous USSR and Egypt missions were in the 1960s. So, wouldn’t that make him something like…seventy years old?”

“You know, no one but me has seemed to notice that,” Gabe says. “Or if they have, they haven’t mentioned it. But, yeah, he looks like he’s in his early fifties at most. And not just that, he’s clearly in top physical condition. I can’t say for sure, but if it came to blows between the two of us, I’d put my money on him.”

“And obviously there’s no way to find out for certain. I mean, unless you want to fight him and test your theory.”

Gabe laughs and shakes his head. “No way. I’m not that curious.”

“We can’t just…ask him about it. Can we?”

“You can, if you want to risk it,” Gabe says, grinning. “But leave me out of that particular kamikaze mission. I’d rather stay on his good side.”

“You’re a wiser man than me,” Barrett says with a chuckle.

They smoke in silence for a few minutes, and Gabe takes the opportunity to examine his companion surreptitiously. She’s roughly five-foot-eight, in excellent shape, if a bit thin, and looks to be around thirty. She has wavy, light brown hair which she wears knotted up in a neat little bun, and doesn’t appear to have any makeup on her face. It’s a judicious choice, as far as her observer is concerned. She is a very attractive woman, and cosmetics would mar more than enhance her delicate features. The most singular thing about her is her eyes, which are an unusually intense shade of green. They are large and intelligent, and they seem to have a natural ability to compel the gaze of others by the force of her will. Her eyes are enough to move her up the scale in Gabe’s reckoning from pretty to beautiful.

She looks up at him suddenly and says with a sly grin, “Caught you! It’s not polite to stare, Agent Reyes.”

“Sorry,” Gabe says, “I don’t mean to be rude. You’re very, uh…easy to look at.”

“If that’s a compliment, I’ll take it,” she says affably. “No apology necessary. Though I must confess, after spending so many years in the company of military men, it’s going to be strange not to be the prettiest one in the room.”

Gabe looks confused. “Who, Yun?”

“I meant Morrison,” she says, laughing aloud. “He’s an absolute doll. Not exactly my type, but what a face. Oh—only don’t tell Min-Ji I said that. God I must sound like such an arrogant cow. Maybe I should shut my mouth before I manage to get any more of my foot into it.”

“You don’t sound arrogant to me,” Gabe smiles. “Yeah, I guess you could say Jack’s pretty.”

“So young, though. What is he, twenty-five?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“Oh, an infant, then. I’m thirty-four. Basically a granny.”

“Whoa lady, I’m the same age as you and I’m not old!”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, grandpa.” She says, snuffing her cigarette. “Shall we?”

“After you, abuelita.”

“I know what that means!”

 

At noon, the Colonel arrives and takes both the new team members with him to lunch. After the remaining team members have eaten, Shearwater collects them and escorts them to the briefing room, where Yun, Barrett, and the Colonel are waiting. The Colonel is standing at the head of a long, black conference table, and the two women are sitting beside each other. There are four empty seats, before which electronic tablets are propped up on small aluminum stands. They are thin, black, about four inches wide by six inches long, and the screens each display one of the men’s names. As they are taking the seats designated by the devices, the Colonel begins.

“Good afternoon gentlemen,” he says in his craggy, resonant voice. “I have to ask that you don’t touch the devices in front of you. Alright. I can’t say how glad I am that you’re all finally here and we can get underway. I’ve had this little project in the works for a number of years, and it’s been a long road. I’m sure the question on all your minds is just what exactly you’re going to be doing.”

Enthusiastic nods from the team.

“Well, the short answer is, everything. The longer, more accurate answer is everything I think you’re necessary for. The six of you are ultimately going to function as a kind of black-ops Swiss Army knife. You’re going to go where the military can’t go, find things out that other members of the intelligence services can’t, and do things no one else can. You won’t be spies, you won’t be commandos, you won’t be peacekeepers. You’ll be all those things and more. Now I know that’s a lot to throw at you and it ain’t too specific. But if you’ll bear with me, it’ll make sense later.”

The colonel sits down and studies each of their faces in turn. He begins again in a more conversational tone.

“Listen, each one of you kids was chosen for specific reasons and to fill a specific role. As far as I’m concerned, this is my A-team. All my first choices. But before we get into that, I’m bound to give you one last chance to bow out. Should you choose to do so, I’ll be disappointed to see you go, but there will be no judgment and no consequences attached. We’ll even get you your old job back.

I’m not going to tell you what you’ll be doing is dangerous. You already know it will be, and you all come from jobs where danger is part of your everyday lives. But you need to know that what I’m going to ask of you is going to change your lives forever. I don’t mean that philosophically. I mean your day-to-day existence will be tangibly and permanently altered. I can’t tell you how, but I wouldn’t ask you to do anything I wouldn’t do myself, or in fact haven’t already done. I can say that I believe in what I’m asking you to do. I believe the sacrifice I’m asking you to make is worth it.”

He pauses to allow his listeners to process what he has said.

“Now, I’ve asked you not to touch those devices, because once you accept them, once you put your hands on them, there’s no turning back. You’re all in. But I don’t expect you to make a decision like this on the spur of the moment. So I want you all to take the rest of the day and think about it. Talk to each other if you’d like, or think alone if that’s your style, but consider it seriously. Tomorrow morning at 0800, we’ll meet in this room. If you don’t come, I’ll understand that you have chosen to bow out, and Agent Shearwater will assist you in getting your travel and other arrangements in order. If you choose to stay, show up here in the morning and pick up the device with your name on it, and we’ll get to work. Before I let you go, are there any questions?”

No one speaks. The Colonel looks around at their faces again and smiles.

“Alright, kids. Go on and get. I hope to see all six of you tomorrow morning. But remember, there’s no wrong answer here except being uncertain.”

With that, the he rises from his chair and departs, followed by Agent Shearwater. The assembled team members sit blinking dumbly at each other, uncertain exactly what to do next. Jack speaks first.

“I guess that’s it,” he says. “But I think we should talk this over as a team, before anyone makes a decision. You all want to meet in a couple of hours?” The others give scattered nods and verbal affirmations. “Lancaster Pub at 1600 work for everyone?”

The team agrees to this, and they quietly disperse. Jack and Gabe walk back to Gabe’s temp lodging, which they both essentially co-inhabit at this point. Without exchanging a word, they kick off their boots and lie down in Gabe’s bed. Jack buries his face in the crook of Gabe’s neck and breathes a long, deep sigh.

“We have to do this, don’t we,” he says.

“Yeah,” Gabe replies. “I think we do.”

“I wonder if…” Jack begins, then trails off into silence.

“If what, cariño?” Gabe asks, gently stroking Jack’s hair with his fingertips.

“I was going to say I wonder if we’ll feel different. I was just thinking out loud.”

Gabe’s hand freezes. “What do you mean, Jack? Do you know what’s going on?”

“I think I do,” Jack says. “But I could be wrong.”

“Jesus, Jack, tell me."

Jack sits up and Gabe does the same.

“Ok,” Jack says slowly, “but…I’m afraid it’s going to sound insane when I say it out loud.”

 


	23. Captain Fucking America

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short one, I know! It's in this odd, interstitial place that doesn't exactly fit at the end of the last chapter, and certainly doesn't belong at the beginning of the next one.

“What, like Captain fucking America?”

“Hush, Lydia, keep it down,” Yun says, glancing uneasily at some other bar patrons, who are milling about nearly within earshot.

This elicits a laugh from Miller. “I don’t think comic book superheroes are an InfoSec topic, Yun.”

The six teammates are gathered at a (somewhat sticky) table in the Lancaster Pub, a fine establishment featuring dart boards, billiard tables, and locally renowned for its weekly two-dollar Pabst nights. Jack has chosen this place to meet with the team specifically because the lively bustle of the popular public house is likely to stymie any possible eavesdropping, intentional or otherwise. He has reckoned without the jukebox, however. Barrett’s exclamation just barely reaches his ears over the dulcet tones of Mr. Kenneth Arnold “Kenny” Chesney, as he performs his magnum opus, “She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy.”

With a minor commotion and some repeating themselves to be understood, the group decamps and carries their pints and highball glasses to the back patio, on which they find an obliging fire pit, surrounded by small tables. They pull up chairs and huddle conspiratorially around one of these tables.

“What, like Captain fucking America?” Barrett repeats in a hushed voice.

“I guess that’s what I’m suggesting, yes,” Jack says. “I mean, obviously not on that scale. I don’t think they could or would make us into superheroes, but I think whatever we’re going to be asked to do will involve some kind of physical or mental enhancement.”

“Ok, well, that sounds totally nuts to me,” Temple says. “What are you even basing this on?”

Jack shakes his head. “I don’t know anything for certain, but the patterns makes sense. We’re all young, single, and exceptional in some way. Temple, you and Reyes and Barrett and I are all decorated combat veterans. Yun, you’re the first female combat systems officer to take part in an active conflict overseas. Miller, you’re a literal genius who was recruited out of Harvard by the NSA after you graduated with honors at twenty.”

“Hold on,” Miller says. “How do you know all this stuff?”

“It’s all in your personnel files,” Jack says, looking perplexed. “You never accessed the Agency’s databases? The computers are right there in the study, guys.”

“Jack, go on,” Gabe says. “Tell them the rest.”

“Right, so we’re all young, unmarried, and exceptional. Our boss was the most famous spy in probably all of history. He was beyond exceptional. The things he did would almost require a superhero to pull off. And now, at seventy-three years old, he’s still actively employed by the CIA, is in hyperbolic physical condition, and looks about fifty at the oldest.”

“He’s seventy bloody three?” Barrett says. “How did you find out? Was his file on there, too?”

“I asked him,” Jack says.

“Well, fuck me,” she laughs, taking a hefty swig of her gin and tonic.

Jack does not understand this reaction, but he smiles politely before he continues. “Then there is what he told us today. He said what he was going to ask of us would tangibly alter our lives. He said once we accept, there’s no going back. And he said he wouldn’t ask us to do anything he hadn’t done, himself. If we’re going to be some kind of multifunction, black-ops elite team, performing the way he described, there’s nothing that would ensure our success more than some kind of…augmentation. I think he was the prototype for what we’re going to be.”

They sit in silence, contemplating what Jack has told them.

Temple shakes his head. “I don’t know, Morrison. This sounds like some sci-fi bullshit. Reyes, what do you think?”

“I think I would be inclined to agree with you,” Gabe says slowly, “if it weren’t for Jack’s conviction that this is what we’re here for. I defer to his judgement. If he says this is the answer, I believe it.”

“I have to remind you, though,” Jack says. “I could be wrong. I don’t think I _am_ wrong, but take that into account when you make your decisions.”

“We don’t really have a choice but to assume you’re right, though,” Miller says. “If it’s even a possibility and it’s something we wouldn’t be willing to do, then what you’ve said has to affect our thinking. So, I mean, if you’re just speculating, why tell us at all?”

“Because I am not just speculating,” Jack says gravely. “This is the conclusion I’ve come to based on the evidence I have. It would have been morally inexcusable in me not to have told you all something that could so materially affect your judgment regarding an irreversible decision like this.”

“Look,” Yun interjects. “I don’t know about all of you, but whether Morrison is right, and we’re going to be turned into drugged-up super-soldiers, or if he’s off in left field and it’s something else entirely, I…I don’t really care. I want to serve my country the best way I can, and I want to work with Colonel Lawrence. If he believes in whatever it is we’re going to be asked to do, then I believe in it, too. Or at least, I want to. There’s no question for me. I want to be part of it.”

“I do, too,” Jack agrees.

“Same goes for me,” Gabe says. “I wouldn’t give up this opportunity for anything in the world.”

As Reyes says this, Barrett thinks she sees an odd expression cross Morrison’s handsome face for just an instant. She’s not sure, but it almost seems to her that the statement has wounded him somehow. Her attention is on more important matters, however, and she shuffles it away for future contemplation.

“I’m in,” she says. “One-hundred percent. I want to work with Lawrence, too, but it’s not only that. Not to go all squishy on you, and maybe it’s just the old G and T talking, but…from what I’ve seen in the few hours we’ve known each other, I think you’re all really extraordinary. I’m honored to be included among you. So, you know, wild horses and all that.”

“Wild horses?” Jack says, puzzled.

“Couldn’t drag me away,” she replies, raising her glass in a jaunty salute.

“Ok…ok,” Temple says. He leans his elbows on the table and rubs his hands together anxiously. Then he nods. “Yeah, I’m in, too.”

All eyes are suddenly on Miller, as he is the only one who hasn’t given a definite answer.

“Ok, fuck it,” he says, grinning broadly. “You talked me into it.”

Spontaneously, they all raise their glasses in a silent toast, as if solemnizing the moment. Jack sits back and studies the faces of the five people around him, much like the Colonel had done in the briefing room today. He feels a keen sense of the _rightness_ of this thing. This little group of people from widely scattered places, with different backgrounds, different interests, different lives, joining together to become a whole that is greater than the sum of its parts.

At the edges of this warm, bright feeling, however, lurks a cold, black fear. He will be their leader. He will be responsible for their success or failure as a unit. More than that, he will be responsible for their safety in hazardous, even deadly situations. For their survival. He may be forced, one day, to make a decision that will lead directly to one of their deaths. Maybe more than one. Jack cannot do this. Jack cannot lead these people. Jack is not capable of knowingly allowing any of these talented, exceptional young men and women to die. So Jack quietly recedes into himself. Major John Patrick Morrison, Jr. smiles benignly and gazes at no one in particular, till Gabe nudges him and repeats his question.

“Hey, did you want another drink?”

“Sorry, my mind was wandering,” Jack says, looking up at his friend. “Yeah, sure. Another old fashioned, please.”

Gabe grins. “I already ordered you a tequila.”

Barrett, who is watching the two men closely from beneath her long eyelashes, smiles to herself.

 

“Mornin’ honey,” Colonel Lawrence says, as Agent Shearwater enters his office. “How’re the kids?”

Shearwater sighs. “Boss, you’ve got to stop with all the ‘kids’ stuff. They’re your employees, not your grandchildren.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, young man,” the Colonel says, wagging an admonishing finger. “The best teams are built like families. They’ve got to rely on each other and trust each other and be willing to sacrifice their lives for each other, just like a family. If I get to be grandpa, that’s just an added benefit.”

“It’s exactly that, boss,” the young man says in an earnest tone. “It makes me worry about you. I’m afraid you’re going to get too attached to them, and when they’re in dangerous situations, you might…”

The older man’s green eyes kindle. “Shearwater, I know you ain’t about to suggest that my judgment will be affected.”

“No sir,” the agent says quietly. “I know it won’t. And I know what it’ll put you through afterward.”

“That’s my own problem,” the Colonel says gruffly. “Don’t you worry about me.” He pauses, then says in a gentler tone, “Hey. Don’t worry about me, alright? I’m an old warhorse. I can take it.”

“Ok, boss,” Shearwater replies, continuing to appear worried.

“What’d they do yesterday? After I let ‘em go?”

“Uh, let’s see,” Shearwater says, opening one of the blue folders on the Colonel’s desk. “They went home, Morrison and Reyes together, and then they all met at the Lancaster Pub at around 1600. Things either went very well, or very badly, because they didn’t leave till 2030 or so. Then they all went back home, Morrison and Reyes together again.”

“Any of ‘em talk to you this morning?”

“Nope.”

“Alright then,” the Colonel says. “Let’s go find out if we have a team.”

 


	24. The Doctor

The briefing room door swings silently open and the older gentleman enters, looking as if he is attempting to make himself as unobtrusive as possible. Of course, he knows he is entering a room full of hyper-vigilant CIA agents, and his presence is bound to cause something of a disturbance. This is the reason he has shown up late in the first place. As he has expected, the six young people turn to glance at up at him, grinning with recognition at the face of their old instructor.

“Ah, Alex,” Colonel Lawrence says. “Glad to see you’re here. Ladies and gentlemen, you all remember Commander Andreev.”

Chorus of “Yes, sir,” and “Good to see you, sir.”

The old instructor nods and takes a seat at the far end of the table beside Special Agent Shearwater.

“Ok, back to your phones,” the Colonel says.

Andreev observes the young people as the Colonel continues with his briefing on their personal communication devices. He squints across the table (unnecessarily, as his vision is excellent) at that blonde Marine, who is seated to Lawrence’s right. Well, at least his hair’s longer now. Makes him look less like a Hitler youth. He purses his lips disapprovingly as he eyes Reyes. Facial hair. It’s like the boy is _trying_ to look like a criminal. His expression softens imperceptibly as he glances at Barrett. Just as pretty as ever and the best pilot this side of the…well, anywhere. Knows it, too. Yun, he’s got no problem with her. She’s a good man. Temple doesn’t merit much of a personal opinion one way or the other. He’s a solid, reliable special forces man. Miller he dislikes outright. Cocky fuck college boy thinks enough data is all there is to a conclusion. He sighs and shakes his head, which makes Shearwater turn away to conceal a grin.

“We came up with a bunch of stupid acronyms for ‘em,” the Colonel is saying, “but none of ‘em stuck. We ended up just callin’ ‘em phones. They will function as cellular telephones, but they are so much more than that, the name’s almost a joke. Go ahead and take ‘em.”

The six young people pick up the devices before them to examine them. As each person touches their device, the name disappears from the screen, and is replaced by what appears to be a pretty standard smartphone home screen.

“Now, I ain’t an expert in the tech, so bear with me, but I can tell you a lot of what they do,” the Colonel tells them. “Your phone is keyed to your personal biometric data. In the hands of anyone else, that device will be a useless brick. So there’s no need to worry about passwords and the like. They are waterproof, shock-proof, and heat resistant up to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. However, if you could do your best not to lose ‘em, the US Treasury would thank you. From R&D to construction, each of those devices represents about two million tax dollars.”

“Jesus Christ,” Yun says. “What are they made of? Diamonds?”

The colonel laughs. “Diamonds would’ve been considerably cheaper. They’re composed of some kind of nano-something and all kinds of other science words the R&D guys failed to make me understand. For anyone interested in a migraine, the full specs are in a file on the device itself. As to operating them: when you’re in combat or other active, on-duty situations, you’ll communicate via concealed earpiece and a ring-finger PTT control. Otherwise, you can pick ‘em up and dial ‘em, just like any cell phone.

All transmissions from these devices are automatically secure. They use high-frequency burst transmission in combat scenarios, and when you use them to make regular calls, they tap into the nearest satellite, do some kind of fancy jig with the signals, and translate that back down to the cell tower in an encrypted form. Again, I don’t know exactly what that entails, but it’s in the specs. They have access to the Agency’s databases, as well as the regular internet, too.

One of the most important features of these things is that they’ll be constantly collecting and transmitting information on your location. In addition, when you hold your phone in your hand, it’ll read your vitals, blood pressure, hormone levels, chemicals in your bloodstream, all that fun stuff, and send it to the medical support staff in this office, so we can keep an eye on your physical condition. Oh, and you’ve got to keep them on you. For reasons of national security, if the device is more than ten feet away from your person for eight consecutive hours, it’ll fry its hard drive. I never saw it, but the techs tell me they pop like little firecrackers.”

“That all seems like a pretty serious violation of privacy,” Yun says uncomfortably.

“Welcome to the CIA, darlin’,” the Colonel replies with a chuckle. “But we ain’t usin’ these things to nanny you. I have one, myself, and so does Shearwater. The Agency don’t want a bunch a valuable assets like us runnin’ all over god’s earth without a way to keep track of us. Way I see it, we’re lucky they don’t tag us like deer.”

“What makes us such valuable assets?” Temple asks. “I mean, worth the cost of all this high-tech monitoring.”

“Now we’re gettin’ to the crux of the matter,” the Colonel says. “The cost of acquiring you and the little training you’ve had means the government has already invested a couple hundred grand in each of you, to say nothing of your prior military training. However, by the time you’re all mission-ready, it’ll be in the millions. Per agent. For the specifics, I’m gonna hand it off to Dr. Z. She ain’t here yet, so let’s take ten, and y’all can grab some coffee and hit the head and whatnot. Take your phones with you. They’re yours now.”

“Hey, I’m gonna get a cup of coffee,” Gabe says to Jack, who has remained seated and is fiddling with his phone. “You want one?”

“Huh? Oh, no, I’ll come with you,” Jack says, stuffing the new phone into his pocket beside his old one.

As they make their way toward the door, Jack sees that Barrett is talking with their former instructor, smiling and gesturing excitedly.

“I thought she didn’t know Andreev,” he says to Gabe in an undertone.

The old major turns and raises an eyebrow. “What was that, Morrison?”

Jack flushes with embarrassment. “Nothing, sir.”

“Didn’t sound like nothing,” the old major replies.

Jack opens his mouth, but Barrett breaks in with a merry laugh, “Oh, uncle Alex, be civil at least!”

“Uncle Alex?” Gabe and Jack say, almost in unison.

“Well, not actually,” Barrett says. “But as good as one. Major Andreev was a very old friend of my father.”

“I wouldn’t say _very_ old,” Andreev replies.

“You know what I mean, uncle Alex,” Barrett says, laughing again. She turns to Jack and Gabe. “I’m beginning to suspect that a little nepotism may have got me this job.”

“Absolutely not,” the old major says gruffly. “If you weren’t the best pilot I’ve ever seen, there’s no way I would have tapped you for this program.”

“You see? He’s so full of familial devotion, he can hardly contain himself.”

Andreev snorts and shakes his head. “Go take your break, you little devil. I’ve got to have a word with the boss.”

“Alright, you old grump,” Barrett says. “But I’ve staked my claim on you for dinner tonight.”

She kisses the old man on the cheek, which he pretends displeases him, and follows Jack and Gabe out of the room.

“So, Andreev is your…” Gabe begins, as they enter the break room.

“My pretend uncle,” Barrett says chirpily, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “My papa’s closest friend. I’ve known him my whole life.”

“And you had no idea he was involved in you being invited here?” Jack asks.

“To tell you the truth, I had in inkling,” she says. “I knew he was doing some hush-hush military work in the States, so when I was invited to join the program, I figured he had a hand in it somehow. But he never said anything to me. Then, when I arrived and heard to you all talking about a class you had from him, I knew I was right, and he’d probably be around to say hello soon.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Gabe asks.

“It would have been a bad sort of first impression to give,” she replies, looking down at her mug. “You know, advertising that my father’s friend is the only reason I got the post.”

“It sounded to me like he picked you because you’re qualified,” Gabe says. “He doesn’t strike me as a man who would make a decision like that based on personal favoritism.”

“No,” Barrett says slowly. She smiles up at Gabe. “No, he’s not. You’re right. Maybe I really am worth my salt, then. Thanks, Gabe—I mean, Agent Reyes.”

“Just Gabe is fine,” Agent Reyes says, smiling amiably.

By this time they are filtering back into the briefing room and taking their seats. Shearwater and Andreev are seated at the far end of the table, now accompanied by the Colonel. As they settle in, the door opens yet again, and woman in a white coat enters. She looks to be in her mid-thirties, is tall, pale-complected, has light blue eyes, and is even blonder than Jack. She is followed by an assistant who is carrying a large, heavy, metal case. He sets this down on the conference table and hurries off, apparently anxious to get back to whatever he was doing before.

Colonel Lawrence stands to introduce her. “For those of you who haven’t had your medical inprocessing yet, this is Dr. Angela Ziegler, the chief of our medical staff. I’ll let her tell you everything else you need to know. Dr. Z, they’re all yours.”

“Thank you Colonel. Hello, everyone,” the doctor says, in a musical, Swiss-German lilt. “I am, as Colonel Lawrence has said, Dr. Ziegler, the chief of the medical staff. I will be looking after your health, caring for any injuries you sustain, and overseeing your treatment as part of this program. I am a combat medic and a surgeon, but primarily, I am a geneticist. Specifically, my field is genetic augmentation.”

Gabe and Jack glance at each other, then return their attention to the doctor.

“My mother began her work in this field long before I was born. Funded by the US Government, she and some other geneticists and chemical biologists developed a method of using genetic modification to create what they called, ‘high-efficiency assets.’ I have continued her work. The technology back then was not where it needed to be, so for many years, the treatment was unstable, and met with very few successes. Among these successes were Colonel Thomas Lawrence and to a lesser extent, Major Aleksei Andreev. They are essentially prototypes of these high-efficiency assets.

In its current state, our method has far surpassed what my mother thought was possible, and we are making advances every day. It is not complete. However, it is finally stable enough to be employed on the battlefield. The six of you will be the first black-ops unit, the first unit of any kind, composed entirely of genetically augmented, high-efficiency assets. Before I move on to the process, are there any questions?”

She looks about at the team members. The air in the room is heavy with the tense silence.

Jack raises his hand. “Ma’am, did the vaccinations we received have anything to do with this genetic augmentation?”

“Yes,” the doctor replies. “The injections you were given will prevent our modified nucleic acid polymers from crossing the Weismann barrier and modifying your germline, as opposed to only affecting your somatic cells. In laymen’s terms, when we first introduce our polymers into your systems, they will attempt to attach to your sperm cells, and thus modify your hereditary genetic code. The vaccine you were given prevents this.”

“So, do we have to get the vaccine?” Yun asks. “Myself and Barrett?”

The doctor shakes her head. “No, we have found that the polymers only have affinity for sperm cells. Ova are unaffected. Yes, Reyes?”

“What exactly is a high-efficiency asset, ma’am?” Gabe asks.

“Very good question,” she says. “The genetic therapy we provide will essentially enhance your natural traits beyond usual human capacity. It was important that you all be exceptionally gifted to begin with, to ensure that we obtain the best result possible. Your reflexes, spatial awareness, and other senses will be heightened. You will suffer fewer injuries and you will heal more quickly when you are injured, because your cells will be regenerating at a greatly increased rate. You will also require less sleep, less food, and less water than average humans, since your bodies’ systems will be working as efficiently as possible. You will be stronger, faster, more intelligent, and far more disease resistant than unmodified humans. In fact, you will be entirely immune to viral and bacterial pathogens of any kind.”

“What are the side-effects of this treatment going to look like?” Miller asks.

“There should be no detrimental side-effects, other than some difficulty sleeping in the first few weeks. This is normal, as the brain and body must adapt to the shift in your internal chemistry. If you experience difficulty sleeping, let us know, and we can help you with it. Otherwise, there will be an adjustment period as you acclimate yourselves to your new physical and mental condition. This will require proper care and supervision, so that you do not unintentionally injure others or destroy property.”

“How the fuck strong are we going to be?” Temple says.

“Very,” the doctor replies. “It will be of vital importance that you learn to moderate yourselves before you are reintroduced into the general population.”

“Will there be any sort of, you know…change to our personalities?” Barrett asks. “I mean, will this affect who we are?”

The doctor smiles. “No, nothing like that. This treatment will enhance your natural functions, but it cannot alter something as complex as personality, which is made up of a multitude of factors.”

“Ma’am,” Jack says. “Will this treatment have an effect on us as far as aging?”

“Another excellent question,” she says. “Yes, it will. Since your cells will be regenerating at such a rapid rate, and your bodies functioning so efficiently, your lifespans will be increased. Provided, of course, that you are not killed by violence or mischance.”

“How increased?” Jack asks.

“We don’t know yet,” the doctor replies. “Colonel Lawrence received an earlier version of the treatment you will be undertaking. He is seventy-three, and has the mental acuity of a man in his forties, and the physical appearance of a man in his early fifties. However, he is much stronger and faster than a normal man of any age. These effects will be more pronounced with the six of you, since the technology has advanced so much since then.”

“What about Major Andreev?” Gabe asks. “If you’ll excuse my asking, you said his treatment was successful to a lesser extent. Why is that?”

“Because I refused to continue it,” the old major replies. “I stopped halfway through.”

Gabe notices the Colonel’s brow knit and his jaw set as Andreev says this. He turns his head to look out the window.

“Why?” Jack asks.

“It had nothing to do with any negative effects, so don’t get that into your heads,” Andreev replies flatly. “I had my own reasons.”

“Doc,” the Colonel says, “why don’t we move on to the treatment process.”

“Yes sir,” the doctor replies. “The treatment process is very simple. You will each be given one injection per week for four weeks. This is not a drug that will wear off, or a depot injection that will run out. The nucleic polymers will permanently alter your genetic structure. When we develop a new version of the therapy, it is possible that you will receive it. Otherwise, no further maintenance is required.”

“When does this treatment start?” Miller asks, looking apprehensively at the case on the conference table. “I’m not great with needles.”

“The first will be right now. But no needles will be involved, Mr. Miller,” the doctor smiles. “I will be administering your treatment via jet injector.” She opens the case on the desk. “These injections are carefully tailored to your individual genetic information, so there is a separate injector for each of you. That is why I had to bring this enormous case. Unless there are any more questions, we can begin.”

“One more question, ma’am,” Jack says. “How long will it be till we start experiencing the effects of the therapy?”

“It will vary by individual, but I would say you will begin to notice significant differences within ten days. Two weeks at the most.”

Jack nods. He takes a deep breath, then rises from his seat. “I’m ready, ma’am.”

“Wonderful,” she replies, smiling warmly. “Please remove your jacket and stand here.”

Jack takes off his black hooded jacket and hangs it over his chair. He goes to the front of the room and stands where the doctor has indicated. She rolls up the short sleeve of his white t-shirt, exposing his shoulder, and probes the muscle with her fingers.

“Very good,” she says. She takes something that looks like a sci-fi laser pistol from the case and holds it against Jack’s upper arm. “Okay, deep breath, little pinch.”

Jack obeys. He hears the metallic hiss of the jet injector and feels the sharp, brief sting of the pressurized fluid piercing his skin to enter his subcutaneous tissue.

“All done,” the doctor says sweetly. “Wasn’t too bad, was it?”

“Not at all, ma’am,” Jack says. “Thank you.”

He returns to his seat as Gabe is rising to follow his example. The Colonel grins and nudges Shearwater, who ignores him and continues to take notes on his legal pad.

One by one, all of the other team members go to the front of the room and accept their injections. Then the doctor packs up her equipment, thanks them, reminds them to give her a call if they’re feeling under the weather, and departs. Gabe notes that she is carrying the massive metal case herself this time, and with less apparent effort than the burly assistant who carried it in for her.

“Well, alright,” the Colonel says cheerfully. “Let’s break for lunch. When we come back, I’ll hand things over to Major Andreev and he’ll talk a bit about your training. Meet back here in an hour.”

Chorus of, “Yes, sir,” and “Yes, boss,” and the meeting disperses for lunch.

 


	25. Aldebaran Drive

This is the way they live now. This is the way things are.

The day is longer and the night is less dark. They see clearly at twice, three times the distance, even in the dim haze of evening and early dawn. They are awake to the small voices of the world that no one else notices. The drip of a faucet in another room. The velvety footfalls of a cat passing by in the course of its nightly business. A bird flaps overhead and they know its speed and trajectory without looking. Minutes expand to contain hours of observation. The time it takes for a bullet to close the distance between barrel and target is now something they can perceive and to which they can react. They have never felt so strong. So aware. So alive.

They hardly need to sleep. They fuck all night. There is nothing to make them stop. They can come over and over, till they’re raw, beaten, bruised, dying of thirst, then do it again. In bed, on the couch, on the floor. Sweat-slick, panting, pushing, pulling, rolling over each other, holding each other down. Teeth digging in, fingernails scratching long, bloody gashes that close as quickly as they are opened.

Jack cranes his neck down to watch Gabe stroke him as he rides his cock, grinding up and down, straining with every muscle in his body. Beads of sweat roll down his face and splash onto Gabe’s hard abdomen. They are moving in unison. A well-oiled machine. Jack’s hands are in steel cuffs behind his back. This is aesthetic. There are no cuffs that can hold him now.

Gabe reaches up and takes him by the throat. Pulls him down into a kiss. It takes longer than it did before, but finally Jack’s vision starts to go black. His eyes roll back in their sockets. Gabe sees it and snarls. He bucks his hips upward, lifting Jack off the floor and holding him there. They come together, shuddering, gasping, dizzy with the exertion and intensity of sensation. Then they crumple to the ground in a tangle of sweaty limbs. Exhausted at last.

With a wrench, Jack snaps the chain that links the cuffs together and wraps his arms around Gabe.

Gabe gives a hoarse chuckle. “God damn it, Jack. Those things aren’t free.”

“Buy me new ones,” Jack drawls sleepily. “You can afford it.”

“I’ll buy you anything you want, baby,” Gabe says, stroking the heavy blonde head on his chest. “Tell me what you want.”

Jack nuzzles his face deeper into Gabe’s neck. “You.”

“Jack.”

“Hm?”

“Let me buy you a house.”

“Ok.”

Gabe laughs again. “Just like that? Just, ‘Ok’?”

“Yeah.” Jack pauses. “…wait, you don’t want to live in it with me, do you?”

“You little fuck. I need to beat you more often.”

“And harder.”

Gabe twists Jack’s hair playfully. “What kind of house do you want?”

“The kind with you in it.”

“I mean, we don’t need too much space, obviously. But I don’t want to live in a dump, either. Why don’t they make small houses for rich people?”

“They do, they’re called condos,” Jack says, lifting his head. “You’ve actually been thinking about this, haven’t you.”

“Condo—why don’t I just throw my money in the toilet! And yes, I have.”

Jack drags himself up from the floor and stretches languorously. Gabe gazes admiringly at Jack’s lithe, muscular body as he fishes his jeans from the heap of their mutual clothing. He pulls out his phone.

“What are you doing?” Gabe wants to know.

“Looking up Langley-McLean area houses for sale. You know, if we did have extra space, Molly and Joe and Mom could visit.”

“Well, we’re officially allowed off our leashes today. You want to go look at some places?”

“At four a.m.?” Jack asks distractedly, looking at his phone.

“No, my love,” Gabe says patiently. “I mean we’ll have a shower, get in bed and sleep for a few hours, and then go at a decent hour like respectable people. Are you listening?”

“I heard shower and bed,” Jack says through a deep yawn. “Let’s do those things.”

They linger in the shower, fall into bed at 5 a.m., and awake fresh and bright, as if from a full night’s sleep, at 8 a.m. Jack makes coffee, Gabe cooks breakfast. They are eating their eggs and toast when Gabe’s phones vibrates.

Lydia: FREEDOM!

Lydia: Are you as excited as I am?

Gabe: Jack says we are.

Lydia: Min-Ji and I are going to the fucking mall and I am going to buy every shoe I see. Care to come and watch me be a girly-girl stereotype?

Gabe: We have some errands to run today. We’re being responsible adults.

Lydia: Aw boo. Your loss, nerds!

Lydia: We should all go out for drinks tonight, though.

Gabe: Jack says yes.

Lydia: Brilliant! Give Jacky a big fat kiss and tell him he’s my one true love.

Gabe: Back off my man, Jolene!

Lydia: Make me, Dolly!

Gabe: Have fun. See you tonight.

Lydia: You will! Laters.

He gazes at his phone for a moment before setting it back down on the table.

“It’s strange, isn’t it,” Jack says.

“What?”

“You know…having friends.”

“A little bit,” Gabe shrugs.

“Friends that know we’re a couple,” Jack says through a bite of toast.

“Yeah, especially that. Don’t talk with your mouth full, cariño.”

“Gabe?”

“Yes, Jack?”

“I don’t need a house, to…to be happy with you.”

“Who says it’s just for you? Maybe I want one.”

“Do you?”

“I have to get out of these temp lodgings before I lose my mind, and I’m not going to rent an apartment like a god damned college student. So, let’s skip the nonsense and get a house. It’s no big deal.”

“Didn’t you have an apartment at Fort Hood?”

“No, I had a house.”

“All to yourself?”

“Yep,” Gabe says, collecting their empty dishes. “I’ve been accustomed to having things the way I like them. I want a real home with privacy and a housekeeper to do all the cleaning and cooking and other shit I don’t want to do. And I want you to live there with me.”

“A housekeeper?”

Gabe raises an eyebrow. “Unless you want to learn to pick up after yourself.”

“I know how to pick up after myself.”

“Then why are your clothes always all over my floor?”

“Because that’s where you throw them,” Jack retorts.

“Look, Jack, to be honest…I kind of already have a place in mind.”

Jack blinks. “Holy shit, that was fast.”

“Not really. I contacted a realtor a couple weeks ago, and she’s been keeping an eye out. There’s a place I think you’ll like, if you want to go look at it.”

“Are you kidding me? Let’s go!”

“Let me call her.”

Gabe steps outside to smoke and arrange a viewing with the realtor. He returns with good news. She can meet them at ten.

“It’s like, two miles from here over in McLean,” he says. “You want to call a cab or walk?”

Jack is eagerly in favor of a walk, and so the two set out on their first excursion off SOG grounds in more than a month. They walk along pleasant, tree-lined streets, cut across a large city park, and stroll into what Jack considers to be a very upscale neighborhood.

The house on Aldebaran Drive in McLean is a magnificent, brown-brick Georgian Colonial, with a gable roof, white-framed windows, and an enclosed courtyard in the back. It is nestled among lush, mature trees at the end of a short private drive, and has every advantage as far as modern conveniences and location.

When Jeanine Wuthrich, the second-to-top-selling agent in the offices of Stratford-Holloway Home Services, had suggested this house to Mr. Reyes, it had been mostly by way of a joke. Of course two gentlemen had no use for a six-bedroom, six-point-five-bathroom Colonial, with four fireplaces and a fully-finished basement. But he’d said he was interested. So she’d emailed him all the information, as well as the close to one-hundred photos she’d taken of the interior and exterior. He wanted to know the asking price. She told him. Then an attorney from a Los Angeles law firm had called on Mr. Reyes’ behalf to inquire seriously as to the previous owners, type of sale, and potential closing date. Jeanine had known then that she’d found the real-estate broker’s white stag: an eccentric aristocrat with excellent taste, millions to spend, and a demand for instant gratification.

When he’d called her this morning, she had immediately cancelled everything else on her busy agenda and rushed out of the office. She had driven at an inadvisable speed to the Aldebaran Drive house to open windows, place some tasteful flower arrangements, and do a last dust check before the expectant owner should arrive. She had even tossed some store-bought cookies in the oven. Jeanine Wuthrich does not mess around when it comes to client engagement.

At 9:42 a.m., she is already standing outside by her silver BMW, straightening her cherry-red blazer and repeatedly glancing at her phone. He isn’t late, but this is a big deal. She wonders anxiously if she should have parked her own vehicle in the private drive. No time for that now. Two men are approaching on foot. What did they walk here? One is a very tall, muscular, Latin-American gentleman with a black goatee and moustache. This must be Mr. Reyes. The other is an almost-as-tall, very blonde, very blue-eyed young man who looks so American, Jeanine thinks his name might reasonably be Apple Pie Baseball. She flashes her kilowatt smile and greets them.

“Mr. Reyes! It’s so good to finally meet you in person,” She says, shaking his hand firmly. “And you must be…”

“Jack,” the blonde man says, with a smile so sweet Jeanine could stir it into her iced tea.

“How are you gentlemen enjoying our city so far?”

“It’s lovely,” Jack says.

Mr. Reyes nods and looks excessively uncomfortable. He’s getting anxious. Jeanine’s heart skips a beat. What if he’s having second thoughts! But she is a professional, damn it. She amps up the brightness of her smile a couple hundred lumens.

“Let’s go on in!” she says cheerily.

She enthuses about the gorgeous antique brick, the large windows, and the excellent neighborhood. The two men follow her to the white door, which sits beneath an arched window, and is overhung by a little portico roof. With the air of a seasoned showman, she swings open the door and gestures for them to enter. Her heels click crisply on the glossy hardwood floors as she leads them about from room to room, sharing her effusive admiration of the unique amenities of each.

She notes that the broad grin on Jack’s face grows more dubious with each passing moment. Apparently, this is not quite what he’d expected. She eyes Mr. Reyes surreptitiously. He is looking nervously at Jack, as if trying to read his reactions. Their tour comes to an end in the cozy little tree-shaded courtyard around back.

“So,” Jeanine says, “do you have any questions at all for me? Anything I can explain better?”

“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” Jack says with a half-ironic grin. “But did you say there are seven bathrooms?”

“Well, six and a half,” she replies apologetically. “The last one isn’t a full.”

“This is pretty…unbelievable,” Jack chuckles. “What’s the asking price?”

Mr. Reyes gives Jeanine a warning look from behind his partner’s head.

“Oh, very reasonable for the size and location,” Jeanine beams noncommittally, “and the one-of-a-kind architecture. Anyway, I’ll get out of your hair and let you two look around a little on your own. You know, get a feel for the place. Ok?”

This is agreed to, and Jeanine politely retreats to the comfort of her automobile, positively dying with suspense.

Gabe looks apprehensively into Jack’s face. “Well…what do you think?”

Much to his discomfiture, Jack laughs outright. “Are you serious? This place is fucking fantastic, Gabe, but it’s absurdly huge. There’s no way we can use this much space.”

“But you said that if we had extra space, that’d make it easier for Molly and Joe and your mom to come visit.”

“Yeah but honey, by extra space I meant a guest room and a foldout sofa, not five extra bedrooms and four god damned fireplaces."

“So you don’t like it,” Gabe says, palpably disheartened.

“Oh, Gabe, no,” Jack says, softening. “I love it. It’s probably the most beautiful house I’ve ever seen. But I don’t need you to buy me something like this. Plus, it’s got to be like a million dollars at least.”

“Two million,” Gabe says.

“Jesus Christ. Two million dollars,” Jack breathes, shaking his head.

“Jack, listen,” Gabe says gravely. “If the price were no concern and you ignore the impracticality of the size, would you want to live here? Would you like this to be your house?”

“Are you kidding me? Of course I—” Jack breaks off abruptly. He stares wide-eyed at Gabe. “What…what are you saying? Gabe…are you—”

Gabe takes Jack in his arms and kisses his forehead, then his lips.

He puts his mouth right up against Jack’s ear and whispers, “It’s already yours, Jack. I bought it.”

Jack’s head spins and his knees wobble. He thinks he must have misheard. “You…you what?”

“I bought it, sweetheart,” Gabe repeats, squeezing him tighter. “This is your house. Our house. If you want it.”

“Holy fucking shit,” Jack says dazedly, trying to catch his breath. “Fucking shit, Gabe. You…you bought us a fucking two-million-dollar house?”

“A little under two million. Hush,” Gabe says, leaning back to look down into those incandescent blue eyes. “Does it make you happy?”

Jack is happy. He thinks he is happy. He is overwhelmed by confusing emotions that he can’t quite describe to himself. One of them is that warm, tight, almost painful feeling of fullness in his chest that makes him cry if he’s not careful. He nods. Two big tears roll down his face as he gazes adoringly up at his lover.

“Yeah,” he chokes out. “It does. Fuck. Gabe. How could you…why would you do this for me?”

“Because I love you,” Gabe says, wiping away the tears from Jack’s handsome face. Then he grins wickedly. “Besides, this way I’ll have five other bedrooms to escape to when you snore.”

“I do not snore!” Jack exclaims indignantly.

He tries to wriggle out of Gabe’s grasp, but to no avail. Gabe clings to him and assails him with kisses till Jack scolds him and threatens to call for help. Then they walk hand-in-hand back into their house.

“Well, I guess I’ll have to start liking wine,” Jack sighs, gazing around the airy, modern kitchen. “We have a wine-cellar now. In our house.”

He rolls the idea around in his mind. _We have_. _Our house_. He takes sudden hold of Gabe and pays him back with interest for the kisses in the courtyard.

“Alright,” Gabe says, drawing away at last. “We should go let Jeanine know everything’s ok. At this point in the sale, I could still back out without much difficulty, so she’s probably having fucking kittens by now. What are you doing?”

“Texting Molly.”

“Jack, wait,” Gabe says. “Before you do…you should know one more little thing.”

“What?”

“Molly knows all about it. She, uh…she helped pick out the house.”

“She what? Jesus, you two fucking conspirators! She’s been asking me if I found a place yet! I’ll never trust her again.”

“That’d be wise. She’s a wily one,” Gabe says, laughing.

Jack’s phone chirps. “She says, ‘Holy fucking shit he did it I am so happy for the two of you when can I come visit.’ Just like that. No punctuation.”

“That’s how you know she’s really happy. And you are, too…right?”

“I am. The happiest I’ve ever been, Gabe. Thank you.”

 


	26. Equatorial Guinea

“Shearwater, get Morrison and Reyes in here.”

The mood in Colonel Lawrence’s office this afternoon is unusually tense. Shearwater departs hastily on his errand, shutting the door silently behind him. 

Andreev shakes his head. “They’re not ready, boss.”

“You’ve been training ‘em for six months, Aleksei, what more do they need?”

“They need to be ready.”

“And when will that be?”

“When I say they are.”

“God damn it, Aleksei, people are dying. Innocent people. Women and kids.”

“Innocent people die every day, boss,” Andreev answers calmly, keeping his icy-blue eyes fixed on the Colonel’s face. “We can’t save ‘em all.”

“Last I checked,” the Colonel says, his green eyes kindling, “I was in command here. This isn’t a fucking democracy.”

“You are,” Andreev replies. “But I’m your friend, Tom, not one of your agents. I’m here because you trust my judgment. _They_ are here because you trust my judgment. And I say they’re not ready for a job like this.”

“They have to be, Aleksei,” the Colonel says. But his tone has softened somewhat. “No one else can do it.”

“I know,” Andreev says. “And I also know better than to—”

He is interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Just a minute!” the Colonel says impatiently.

“I also know better than to argue with you when your mind is made up,” Andreev continues. “I’m not saying I won’t cooperate. I’m just giving you my opinion. Think about who you’re sending into this.”

“She’ll be ok, Aleksei,” the Colonel replies quietly. “I know she’s young, but she can handle herself. You have to give her a chance.”

“I hope you’re right, Tom.” He turns his head and calls out, “Come on in.”

Shearwater enters, followed my Morrison and Reyes. The Colonel gestures for them to sit.

“How you boys doin’,” he says. “Training goin’ well?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What’s going on, boss?” Jack asks.

“Something’s come up,” the Colonel says. “I think this is a job for you and your team. However, you should know that Commander Andreev doesn’t think you’re ready. I’m inclined to defer to his judgement, but I think the job is important, so I want the four of us to talk it over before I make a decision.”

Jack glances back and forth between the Colonel and the old major. Andreev stares straight ahead. The Colonel rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands.

“What’s the job, boss?” Gabe says.

“I’m sure you’re familiar with the situation in Equatorial Guinea,” the Colonel says with an ironic twist of his mouth. “But just in cause you ain’t, here’s a refresher. They’re an extremely oil-rich nation with a poverty-stricken civilian population that still manages to starve and die of thirst in large numbers every day. Probably because their dictator, Teodoro Mangue, is just about as corrupt as they come. The situation for the nation’s poor, which is most of ‘em, is dire. A quarter of the children born there die before the age of five.

A couple years ago, some do-gooders with an organization called Clean Water International got permission to build a water-treatment facility there. It supplies clean water to thousands of the poorest, most ignored people in the world. That is, it did until a couple weeks ago, when scattered reports started to filter out that the facility had reduced its clean water production. Then some folks who were over there to work with anti-human trafficking charities and whatnot confirmed that the facility had shut its doors, and no more water was being produced. The staff working in the facility, plus two French microbiologists and one English hydrologist, have not been seen or heard from in weeks.

The official word is that a group of anti-Mangue rebels, PPGE holdouts from the coup attempt a few years ago, have taken the water treatment facility hostage, therefore subjecting the innocent civilians who depend on it to suffering and death in order to meet their political goals. However, no statement has been issued by the individuals responsible, and the source of the official word, obviously, is the office of the current dictator himself. Additionally, at least one of the men involved has now been positively identified by our intel as Maximé Okomo, one of the dictator’s former private security guards.

Here’s where the situation starts to get hairy. The US government can’t officially intervene. CWI is a US-based organization, but it’s still an NGO acting without government supervision. And with Mr. Mangue over here shakin’ hands with our President for the press, the government can’t delegitimize its official stance that Equatorial Guinea is a sovereign nation working in accord with the UN by sendin’ in troops to stomp all over their tulips.

That’s where we come in. If we decide to take this job, we’ll be making an extra-judicial incursion into a sovereign nation to upset some shit that their own leader is tryin’ to fly under the international radar. You all know the deal. Stealth, no US-traceable weapons or equipment, total deniability. The job will be to drop in, eliminate the targets, free the staff and rescue the scientists, if they’re still alive; and get out.”

“What about getting the facility running again?” Jack asks.

“Well, the scientists are only there for research purposes, as far as we can tell. The facility’s staff are fully qualified to run the place without ‘em. And if it looks to the international public like the locals overthrew the radicals themselves, which we will make certain it does, Mangue’s government will have no choice but to treat ‘em as national heroes and keep the facility running.”

Gabe frowns. “But why would Mangue want to shut down a water treatment facility? What good does it do him to have more if his people dying of thirst?”

“That’s what we’re hopin’ to find out. It don’t smell right to me, either.”

“Boss, if I may,” Jack interjects. “Why do you think this job needs us specifically? Meaning no disrespect, sir, but if Commander Andreev thinks we aren’t ready, wouldn’t it be safer in the hands of a more experienced team?”

“That’s where it gets hairier,” Andreev answers. “The clean water shortage, along with the accompanying unsanitary conditions has exacerbated, if not directly caused, a pneumonic plague outbreak in the area. At least, it looks like the plague. The problem is that it doesn’t appear to be responding to antibiotic treatment.”

“Why do you say doesn’t appear to be?” Gabe asks. “Wouldn’t they know?”

“The cases that have been treated have resisted the antibiotics,” Andreev says. “However, very few people there have access to those treatments, so there isn’t enough data to arrive at a formal conclusion.”

“So, it has to be us,” Jack says. It’s not phrased as a question. “Because we won’t be affected by the disease.”

“What is the alternative? If we don’t go?” Gabe asks.

“Either you go, or you don’t,” the Colonel says. “If you don’t, then whatever happens, happens.”

“Meaning if we don’t…” Jack begins.

“Then no one does,” the Colonel says, completing his thought.

Gabe leans back in his chair and crosses his arms on his chest. He eyes the Colonel thoughtfully. “What aren’t you telling us, boss?”

The Colonel nods to Andreev, who answers for him.

“Dr. Ziegler suspects that this pathogen is synthetic, and that it was intentionally introduced into the population,” he says. “She wants you to bring back a live case.”

Gabe and Jack stare at their old instructor, stunned into silence by the statement. They turn to the Colonel, who nods.

“She says it’s the only way she can observe the progression of the illness at work on a live system. Before you ask, lab animals won’t work. The subject has to be human and one who is already infected, for obvious ethical reasons.”

“Ethical,” Jack says, his blue eyes flashing. “It’s monstrous.”

“Now, Jack—” the Colonel begins, but Jack cuts him off.

“I won’t have it done. Not on my missions. Not ever,” he says, rising to his feet. “If Dr. Mengele wants human test subjects, she can come with us and see them in the field, where they’re dying in filth and poverty. If she thinks she can look mothers in the eye while she observes the progression of the illness that’s killing their infants, she’s welcome to do so. But I won’t deliver a human being to her like a god damned—” he breaks off, suddenly recalling to whom he is speaking, and sinks slowly back into his chair. “I apologize, sir. That was out of line.”

The Colonel regards Jack severely, but Gabe sees something else in the old man’s keen eye. Pride. Like a father watching a son take his first toddling steps into manhood.

“Commander Morrison,” the Colonel says. “If I had any doubts about you bein’ the right man for this job, I don’t now. Well done, son.”

“Commander?” Jack says confusedly. “I don’t understand.”

“That’s right. When you lead a unit like this, you’re the commander. I don’t know if you’ve noticed it, but I still slip and call Aleksei commander sometimes. He used to do what you’re gonna be doing.”

“It’s—it’s an honor, boss. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank us till you come back alive,” Andreev says gruffly.

“Alright, boys,” the old Colonel says. “Have your team assemble in the briefing room tomorrow morning at 0800 and we’ll get everyone up to speed. I’ll let Angie know your decision regarding the test case. Oh, and Jack,” he says with a twinkle in his eye, as the two young men rise to go, “watch the Dr. Mengele stuff, ok? Angie is half German, you know.”

“Yes, sir, of course,” Jack says, abashed. “See you in the morning, sir.”

Jack can feel Gabe’s eyes on him as they walk down the hall toward the elevator. Gabe grins and shakes his head, pushing the button for the ground floor.

Jack laughs uneasily. “What?”

“I just…I never knew you had it in you, is all.”

“I’m really embarrassed about that, Gabe. Don’t rub it in.”

“You shouldn’t be. I’m impressed. And the boss was, too.”

“He looked angry.”

“Baby, come on. What did he say to you right after that?”

“Don’t call Angie Dr. Mengele.”

“Jesus, Jack, sometimes I don’t know if you’re doing this on purpose, or... He said he didn’t have any doubt you were the right man for the job. He called you commander.”

“He did, didn’t he,” Jack says with a gratified smile. His face colors slightly and he turns away.

“Hey, don’t be ashamed to be proud of yourself, Jack,” Gabe says. “You have every right to be. I don’t think I could’ve done that.”

“I don’t know. I’m pretty lucky the boss reacted like he did. What I said was outright insubordination. Not to mention a stupid way to phrase it.”

“What made you say it?”

“I literally have no idea,” Jack says. “I didn’t plan to say those things. I…I felt outraged. Morally. I couldn’t stop myself. I didn’t know what I was saying until the words were already out of my mouth. It was like…some other will took over.”

“Like someone else was controlling you?” Gabe says doubtfully.

“No, not like that,” Jack says. He pauses, struggling to fit words to his impression. “It was all me. It was just….like a _different_ me. I don’t know how to say what I mean. I’ve never felt anything like it before.”

Gabe looks hard at him. “You haven’t?”

“No,” Jack says. He raises his eyebrows. “Have I?”

“How much do you remember about the…the time around your dad’s funeral?”

“It’s all a big blur with some bright spots here and there,” Jack says, shaking his head. “I remember you telling me that you loved me. I remember you making Molly smile. I remember you hugging my mom when you were leaving. That’s all.”

They have exited the building and are walking along a sidewalk beside the road that leads to the gate separating CIA property from the outside world. Gabe stuffs his fists into his jacket pockets to prevent himself taking Jack’s hand by force of habit.

“I know it’s painful, Jack,” he says. “I wouldn’t bring it up, except I’ve seen you do something like this before.”

“During that time?”

“Yeah. I didn’t know you well enough back then to recognize that it was out of the ordinary for you, but Molly mentioned something, too.”

Jack looks up at him questioningly.

“You became very…different. Not all the time, but…like at the hospital. You were absolutely in control of the situation. Not in an irreverent, all-business way. You were steady and…resolute. You seemed twenty years older. You made everyone—even me—feel like we were the distressed children and you were the responsible parent who would make everything alright. You asked the doctor all the appropriate questions, you made the arrangements to transport your dad to the funeral home, you took perfect care of your mom and sister, everything.”

“I—I know I did,” Jack says. His voice comes out strained, as if with an immense mental effort. “I can remember if I try. But it feels like…watching from outside myself. I can’t recall what I thought or felt or anything. Just what I did. What did Molly say about it?”

“She said it was the same way you were when…after you came back from the CAR.”

“I don’t remember that very well, either. I mean, I know I went home for a while and I have this impression that it was pleasant, but I have no concrete memory of the time I spent there.”

“So, do you think maybe this is a coping mechanism for dealing with distress?”

“That sounds right,” Jack says, “but I wasn’t in distress in the Colonel’s office just now. And if it is, why can’t I access it all the time?”

“Jack, wait,” Gabe says, stopping Jack with a hand on his arm. They’ve exited the base and are crossing the city park under some tall evergreens. “You think you weren’t in distress?”

“I wasn’t. I didn’t _feel_ distressed.”

“But sweetheart, we were talking about going to Africa. We were talking about the suffering children there.”

Jack stares blankly back at Gabe.

“Do you honestly not see the correlation?” A note of alarm creeps into Gabe’s tone.

“Gabriel,” Jack says slowly. “I know what happened in the Central African Republic. I…I know what they told me happened. But I have no memory of it at all. It is an entirely blank space in my head.”

“Can you remember if you try? Like you can with our visit to Cedar Rapids?”

“I don’t want to try,” Jack says flatly.

He turns and continues walking homeward. Gabe follows and takes his hand. They walk in silence till they reach their own front door. The sun is just sinking below the horizon, and the early-April air is soft and sweet. Warm, inviting lights shine from the multi-paned windows, which have been thrown open to admit the gentle breeze. The delicious aromas of food being cooked waft out from the kitchen. Jack pauses on the entry step and gazes up into Gabe’s brown eyes with his brilliant blue ones.

He smiles softly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, baby,” Gabe says.

He smiles and squeezes Jack’s hand, and they go inside together. But there is a faint sense of disquiet at the back of Gabe’s mind now, and he finds he can’t entirely shake it off. This isn’t the first time he’s seen Jack’s behavior fluctuate this way since they’ve been here. It’s only the first time he has tried to address it with Jack. In fact, he’s observed this, or something like it, happening on several occasions. Has the frequency increased? Or has he only begun to notice it more, now that he and Jack are together every day. He pushes it out of his thoughts for the moment. Right now, the mission must be their primary focus.


	27. Médecins Sans Frontières

The presence of Dr. Ziegler on the team (her interference, Gabe calls it) will require an entirely different approach than they discussed in their first talk with Andreev and Lawrence, and so the plan has been modified accordingly. Jack goes over the details in his mind once more. Rather than dropping the assault element in by HALO, the entire team will fly into French Guiana, where they will make contact with a French DGSE agent. From there, they will fly to Equatorial Guinea in a French A340 Airbus jet, and land at Bata International Airport. They will be given two all-terrain vehicles and allowed to go about their business, but the DGSE agents will assist them no further, and even this much help has only been secured through a personal contact of Colonel Lawrence at the Direction Générale.

Once in-country, they will pose as members of Médecins Sans Frontières, carrying medical aid and portable water purifiers to the exposed population. The water treatment facility lies near a town called Niefang. Humanitarian aid organizations have been denied access to the area immediately surrounding the treatment facility, so they will set up at a town called Machinda, about 40 km to the west, and establish their presence as relief volunteers. They will actually carry medical equipment and water purifiers with them, and as part of their mission prep, the team has learned to set up emergency water-purification systems, each with a capacity of 750 liters, and capable of producing two-million liters of clean drinking water. Dr. Ziegler will administer treatment to the local population and attempt to assess the spread of the disease, while the other team members carry out their various roles behind the screen of the relief work.

Jack is uneasy about the doctor’s role in all of this. She’s a qualified combat medic, yes. But her level of training and experience with covert ops is unclear to him. Also, her initial request that they bring her back a live test case has left a bad taste in his mouth. He is not sure he likes this strange young doctor and her cold, clinical attitude toward human suffering. That’s odd. He’s been thinking of her as young but he has never actually heard anyone mention her age. He flips open his laptop and logs into the agency’s server. With his new role, he has been granted a higher level of access, and now the personnel files for Colonel Lawrence, Aleksei Andreev, and Dr. Ziegler are available to him. He opens hers.

Dr. Angela Renate Ziegler, DCS. Interesting. She certainly doesn’t look thirty-seven years old. Parents: Dr. Clothilde Ruth Ziegler, deceased, and Dr. Karl Friederich Ziegler, deceased. Place of Birth: Zurich, Switzerland. Doctor of Clinical Surgery from Oxford University. PhD in Biotechnology and Bioengineering from École polytechnique fédérale de Lausanne. Quite an impressive education, even for someone her age. He hears the water shut off in the master-suite bathroom. Gabe emerges, drying himself with a fluffy white towel.

“Hey cariño, I thought you were going to bed.”

“Can’t sleep,” Jack says. “My head’s too full of work.”

“What are you doing?”

“Snooping Dr. Z’s personnel file. Did you know she’s thirty-seven?”

“No,” Gabe says, tossing his towel in the laundry hamper. “I don’t really care, though, so I never thought about it.”

“She has two doctorates,” Jack says musingly. “Both her parents were doctors, too. Hey, hang that towel up to dry before you throw it in there. It’ll get mildewy.”

Gabe pulls on a pair of black underwear and fishes the towel out of the hamper. “How’d you know I put it in here? You weren’t even looking.”

Jack looks up from his computer screen, raising an eyebrow. “I heard it, honey. I’m not deaf.”

“What else does Dr. Z’s bio say?” Gabe asks, climbing into bed and leaning over to look at Jack’s screen.

“She’s from Switzerland, but her mother was German. She did her residency at the Klinik Hirslanden in Zurich, then she accepted an officer’s commission in the Swiss Army and served as a combat medic and then a surgeon.”

“What’s that,” Gabe says, pointing to a spot further down on the page, “about her mother.”

Jack scrolls down and scans the paragraph.

“It says her mother was a geneticist working in advanced methods of gene therapy, and that Dr. Z continued her work. But I mean, we knew that. She said as much.”

“But it doesn’t say what kind of work or for whom.”

“No, but I don’t know how relevant that is to our situation.”

“Probably isn’t,” Gabe shrugs. “But I’d be curious to know more about the woman who raised our resident psychopath.”

Jack closes his laptop and sets it on the night table.

“Gabe, she’s not a psychopath,” he says firmly. “You can’t get into the habit of thinking that way about a member of our team. We all have to trust each other.”

“Do you trust her?”

“I have to. And you do, too.”

“Oh yeah?” Gabe says, laughing. “That an order, Commander Morrison?”

“You bet your ass.”

“You bet _your_ ass. Come here.”

“Gabriel, no!” Jack says, trying to squirm away as Gabe climbs on top of him and pins his hands above his head.

Gabe stops and looks down into Jack’ face. “Really no?”

“Of course not,” Jack laughs. “I just want to _say_ no. I don’t want you to listen.”

Gabe’s eyes light up with that black fire. He straddles Jack’s chest, pinning his arms with his knees. Jack’s pupils dilate in their blue irises till they’re almost entirely black, too. Gabe eases his hard cock out of his underwear. Jack is breathing fast and shallow. His heart pounds and he trembles with anticipation.

“Open,” Gabe says.

Jack opens his mouth.

“Wider.”

Jack obeys.

Gabe leans forward, supporting himself with his hands on the headboard. He rests the head of his cock on Jack’s bottom lip. Jack pushes out his tongue and laps the salty pre-ejaculate off the swollen, ruddy tip of Gabe’s cock.

“Mmmm,” Gabe says. “Good boy.”

He forces himself roughly into Jack’s mouth. But Jack has been trained well. He doesn’t even gag anymore. He stares up at Gabe, blue eyes wide and wild, moving his tongue along the shaft of Gabe's cock. This arouses Gabe to the extreme. He takes hold of Jack’s head and fucks his mouth, hitting the back of his throat with each thrust, till he’s trembling with the struggle to control his ejaculation. With an effort, he pulls out. His cock is rigid and aching, slick with Jack’s saliva.

“Turn over,” he says hoarsely.

Jack obeys.

“Spread your ass.”

Jack obeys again, burying his face in the bedspread and spreading his ass apart with both hands. Gabe slowly pushes the head of his cock through the taut resistance at the opening. Jack bucks and shivers.

“Too much?”

“No,” Jack pants. “Don’t stop.”

Gabe works himself deliberately into Jack’s asshole, savoring every millimeter of the hot, tight pressure squeezing on his cock. Jack pushes himself back on it, groaning into the mattress.

“Fuck, that’s so hot, baby,” Gabe says. “You’re such a slut for my cock.”

Jack pushes back again, taking it deeper.

“Yeah, just like that—ah…fuck. Fuck me. Make yourself come on my cock.”

Jack lifts himself up onto his hands and knees. He arches his spine and lunges backward onto Gabe’s thick, solid shaft. He rocks back and forth, groaning with each electrifying impact as the head of Gabe’s cock connects with the extremity of his rectum.

Gabe feels Jack’s muscles begin to tighten and contract. He catches him by the hips and holds him still. Jack whimpers and pushes harder, trying to get him further inside, but Gabe is immovable.

“Please,” Jack gasps, “Gabe, please let me—give me your cock, please, please.”

“Why don’t you take it, if you want it so bad?” Gabe purrs. “Take it, cariño.”

Jack strains uselessly against Gabe’s iron grip. His skin flushes with the exertion and he begins to sweat. Gabe watches him writhe and twist, arching his back up and down till he is desperate, moaning, begging for it. Then he lets go abruptly. His cock slides in all the way to base and Jack’s ass slams into his hips. Jack cries out and claws the mattress, trembling and convulsing as he comes all over the bed below him.

Gabe pushes him down into it. He pulls out, gripping his throbbing cock in his hand and letting the hot streams of his ejaculation spurt onto Jack’s back and ass. He lowers his body onto Jack’s and buries his face in his silky blonde hair.

“See, you already spoiled your shower,” Jack says breathlessly. “Aren’t you glad you hung up your towel now?”

Gabe laughs, low and soft, kissing Jack’s neck and shoulders. “Yes, baby. You were right. You’re always right.”

 

 

Equatorial Guinea is not at all what Jack expected. He’d expected it to feel more familiar somehow. More like to the places in Africa he’d already been. Strange, considering he has no memory of the Central African Republic, and his time in Rwanda had been brief and mostly tedious. After the long flight to French Guiana, they had met Agent Plessis at the airport, where they had debriefed with him regarding the situation in EG. Their equipment had been loaded into the massive A340 jet, and they had made the transatlantic flight to Bata, an exhausting journey of nearly ten hours, running directly along the equator.

Exhausting that is, for anyone but these specific seven people. They arrive fresh, alert, and spoiling for a fight. Two High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicles (HMMWVs) await them, parked directly on the tarmac by special dispensation obtained by Agent Plessis. They pack their gear and their persons into the vehicles and head for the town of Machinda, 26 km to the east.

The paved city streets fade rapidly into the distance, and they cross into the back country, where the highway cuts through the jungle trees, intersected by red-dirt roads winding off into the oppressively lush vegetation. The town of Machinda is comprised of low, stucco houses with tin roofs, dotted haphazardly along muddy paths snaking out from the paved highway. Some are painted white, some vibrant pastel colors, and most are in an advanced state of dilapidation. Very few even have glass windows, favoring instead slatted shutters that can be pushed outward and propped open with a dowel, to admit the breeze while keeping out the rain.

The two grey HMMWVs, with red and white MSF logos emblazoned along their sides, cruise slowly into the town. They park outside a larger building which, though still in rather serious need of repair, is in better condition than most of the town. This is the Mission San Gabriel Arcángel, a Catholic church that also serves as a medical treatment center for the locals in times of need. Gabe and Angela disembark first. A priest in a white cassock comes to meet them as they approach the building.

Gabe greets him and the three converse briefly in Spanish. Most of the country speaks Spanish as their primary language, and the Equatoguinean dialect is similar enough to Gabe’s Mexican Spanish and Angela’s European Spanish, that they are able to understand each other with very little difficulty. He hurries away and the two rejoin their comrades, who are getting out of the vehicles.

“He’s happy to see us, and wants us to make ourselves at home,” Angela explains. “He says some of our friends left here a week ago, and the rooms they occupied are still empty. He’s going to get some assistants to make up the beds.”

“So, he believed you?” Jack asks. “No trouble?”

“None,” Gabe says. “In fact, he almost seems like he was expecting us.”

“What do you make of that?”

“I don’t know,” Gabe replies, shaking his head.

“I think MSF sends doctors here fairly regularly,” Angela offers. “Perhaps word hasn’t gotten around that humanitarian organizations are supposed to be barred from the area.”

The priest’s name is Padre Nguema and he is very pleased indeed, to see that more aid has come to his distressed parish. He speaks with Angela as the rest of the team unloads their gear.

“The efforts of the Médecins Sans Frontières volunteers have saved many, many lives during my tenure here, doctor,” he tells Angela. “Sanitation is woefully inadequate, and the poor live in such conditions that disease spreads rapidly among them. This new trouble with the water supply has made things much worse.”

“We have heard that the CWI water-treatment facility has been shut down,” Angela says. “But no one seems to know the cause.”

“Ah,” the priest shakes his head sadly. “A dissident political group has taken over the facility. It is said that they mean to hold it hostage until Mangue’s government agrees to hear their demands.”

“What are their demands?”

“So far as we can tell,” he replies, lifting his hands helplessly, “nothing. They have not published any statement clarifying what they want, and no ones dares to go and question such terrible armed men. But some people coming from Niefang have said that they want to overthrow Mangue.”

“Do your people support Mangue?”

“Senora, I will only tell you this because I believe you are judicious enough not to repeat it,” he says, lowering his voice. “The people here hate Mangue. He makes himself fat and rich on the export of oil while children die of starvation, thirst, and disease every day all over this country. But if what we hear is true, then what these men are doing is just as wrong as what Mangue and his government do. They are grabbing at power by subjecting the innocent and helpless to more misery and death. These people live lives of constant toil and suffering. To them, one oppressive regime will be no different than another.”

“Particularly not one that begins by robbing them of clean water,” Angela says. “What is the situation as far as disease? We have heard that an outbreak of pneumonic plague has begun and is killing many.”

“Is that what they are calling it?” the priests says dubiously. “If it were only pneumonic plague, then perhaps we would be better equipped to handle it, though our access to antibiotics is very limited. But this disease, it is like nothing I have ever seen.”

“You have seen it? What can you tell me about it?”

“It behaves like pneumonic plague in the first stages,” he says. “But it progresses much more quickly. The cases I have seen did not respond to antibiotic treatment at all. We were…we were not even able to relieve the pain. Those who came here died in agony within days.”

“Days!” Angela exclaims. “How can that be?”

“I do not know. I only pray your effort here will not be wasted.”

“Have there been any cases here, in Machinda?”

“So far, only those who arrived already infected from the area surrounding Niefang. They were kept quarantined, so as not to spread the disease to the community here, and the bodies were incinerated.”

“Good. Let us hope it has been enough. But it is impossible to keep populations like these totally isolated, especially under such conditions. Has anyone from MSF been to Niefang to assess the situation?”

“No. The last group attempted to enter the village offering treatment, but they were turned away by armed men belonging to the rebels. They probably believed the doctors to be spies employed by Mangue’s government, or those sympathetic to it.”

“Outrageous!” Angela says, aghast. “How can there be such cruelty and ignorance in the world.”

“Senora, if you will forgive my asking, why did MSF decide to send you at this time? The group of doctors who were here before you told me that it would be quite some time before they were able to send another.”

“We came in response to the water shortage caused by the facility shutting down,” Angela says. Which is true, but for the one minor detail.

“I see,” he says, eyeing her keenly. “Word must travel very quickly among you Europeans, then. But however it is that you came, I am infinitely grateful that you are here. God works in mysterious ways. Perhaps something…miraculous will occur.”

“Perhaps so, Padre,” Angela replies with a sweet smile. “But I prefer to put my faith in science. I will leave the miracles to you.”

 


	28. Demons

The accommodations provided by Padre Nguema are small and spare, but clean and in good order. Each room contains two cots, a chair, a small table with a gas lantern, and a King James Bible printed in Equatoguinean Spanish. The linens are freshly laundered, if a bit threadbare, and free of any stains or spots. Miller, the only non-military member of the team, is dubious regarding the hygiene of these sleeping arrangements, but Dr. Ziegler patiently reminds him of his immunity to any pest-borne illness, and he is somewhat palliated.

Jack divides the team into two elements: the recon element, which will slip out of the town and investigate the situation at the water treatment facility, and the research element, which will remain behind and gather what intelligence they can about the disease that is killing the Niefang population. The recon element will be comprised of Jack, Gabe, Temple, and Barrett. The research element will be Dr. Ziegler, Yun, and Miller. In the morning, the researchers will set up an MSF vaccination tent on the San Gabriel Mission property, and the Padre will alert the locals that medical treatment is available to all comers.

The recons will take the emergency water purifiers in one of the HMMWVs, ostensibly to set them up. They will get the first one into place where the river borders Machinda, then depart to make entry into Niefang. Due to their need for stealth and their superior foot-speed in jungle terrain, they will stow the vehicle in some underbrush and travel on foot. Should anyone ask questions, Angela will tell them the rest of the team has returned to Bata to gather additional supplies.

There is a large, concrete-floored room in the Mission, which has often served as the infirmary in times of epidemic and conflict. It has high, glass windows which admit as much daylight as possible, and it is hung throughout with overhead electric lights, which can be powered by a generator outside. There is an additional generator to supply power to any medical equipment the doctors may need to employ. The team’s equipment is all self-powered and they are well-supplied with backup power cells, but Angela’s work can be sensitive to contamination or even being jostled about, so she has her experimental equipment brought to this room.

On a long, metal table on one end of the room, she and Yun have set up a microscopy station, a large, boxy machine of some kind, and a case full of clear plastic rectangles that look as if they’ve been engraved on the inside with tiny dots, along with syringes, petri dishes, and various other things. She is checking the calibration on a microscope when Jack enters.

“Yun, Miller,” he says, “would you mind if I had a word with the doc?”

The two depart, leaving Jack and Angela to confer privately. Jack waits for a moment, but since it does not appear that she intends to stop what she is doing, he speaks as she works.

“How’s everything going, doctor?” he says.

“Well enough,” she replies, not looking up. “What can I do for you, Commander?”

“I just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page, as far as what we’re going to be doing tomorrow.”

“I was there when we all went over it together two hours ago. Do you have a concern regarding the functioning of my memory, Commander Morrison?”

“Of course not,” Jack says, his face flushing slightly. “My concern is for the safety and welfare of the innocent people here.”

She straightens up slowly and turns her icy-blue eyes on him. Though he has a good six inches on her, he suddenly feels as if she is towering above him, looking down on him from some lofty height.

“It’s my duty to ensure that assisting them comes before…other mission objectives,” he ends lamely.

“Commander Morrison,” she says, with frost on her breath, “let me make one thing clear. I do not work for you. I work with Colonel Lawrence. I have come here because I am needed. Because your actions have made it necessary. So before you undertake to instruct me in my own school, first consider the fact that your little bit of moral grandstanding will cost many lives by the time this is over. Because you refused to deliver a test subject, the mission was altered, greatly slowing its pace. Now I must wait here and seek out a case while many die of the disease I am attempting to combat. Furthermore, I must now work on limited equipment in crude conditions, where it will take far longer to deliver results and to synthesize a treatment than it would have at home. If your concern is truly for these suffering people, as is mine, and not your personal feelings, then you will do well to stay out of my way and allow me to do my job.”

Jack stands perfectly still, stunned into silence by her words and her openly superior tone, which he has never heard her use before. He takes a moment to process what she has said. When he speaks again, his voice is steady and undaunted.

“Ma’am, I apologize for insulting you. However, if you don’t want your motives to be questioned in the future, I suggest that you speak to me directly, rather than giving me orders through the Colonel. We are a team, and if we want this to work, we need to communicate. We need to know each other and trust each other. If you had come to me with your request for a test case and explained it to me yourself in the first place, we may have been saved the trouble of doing things this way.”

She regards him closely. Jack studies her, as well, but he can read nothing in her large, luminescent eyes.

“You are right,” she says at last. “It did not occur to me how my motives may have appeared to people who had no context for understanding my reasons.”

“I had no context for understanding _you_ , Dr. Ziegler,” Jack says. “If we had become better acquainted, I would have been able to trust you without needing to be told your reasons.”

She looks away as if embarrassed. “I must apologize, then, Commander. I am unaccustomed to working as part of a…team. I forget sometimes that mutual understanding is a vital part of this sort of thing. In the future, I will be more communicative.”

“Good,” Jack says. “I will, too. Thank you, doctor.”

She nods cordially and makes as if to return to her work, but she stops and turns back toward him.

“How are you, Commander?” she asks in a milder tone. “I understand that you have particular cause to find this situation distressing.”

“I’m as well as I can be. I was barely in Rwanda, and my time in the Central African Republic…I have no memory of that at all.”

“Interesting. And you are getting on well with your team?”

“Yeah. Well, I mean, Agent Reyes helps a lot with that. He’s good at translating me so normal humans can understand me. He knows how to be social with them and they all like him, so when he chews them out, they don’t take it personally.”

“They do seem to like him,” she says musingly. “It is strange, I was certain you would be the one who would be popular with them.”

“Because I’m Captain America?” Jack says, laughing.

“I suppose that is part of it. But Reyes is such a…”

“An asshole?”

“I was going to say a forceful personality,” she replies with a little laugh. “But I do not exactly disagree with you. He has not been very careful to hide his distaste for me.”

“Well, he can be pretty quick to make judgements about people. Give him some time. And to be fair, we really don’t have much to go on.”

“That is fair. I am not very good at socializing.”

“I’m not either, doctor,” Jack says, shaking his head. “I sympathize with that.”

“I know you do,” she replies. “You and I share some similar…irregularities in the hippocampus and superior temporal sulcus, which—” she catches herself and breaks off with a self-conscious smile. “But I am rambling. I should get back to work.”

“Alright, doc,” Jack says. “I’ll let you get back to it, then. But listen, I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot. I’d like to get to know you better, if you’d be open to that. After we get back.”

“I think I would like that. Yes,” she says. “Thank you, Commander.”

“Jack,” Jack says, extending his hand.

“Angela,” the doctor replies, shaking his hand firmly.

Jack departs and Angela continues to set up her makeshift lab. She smiles to herself as she works. Perhaps it won’t be so bad, being part of this team.

Jack returns to his room to find Gabe and Barrett in earnest conversation. They look up as he enters.

“How’d it go?” Gabe asks.

“Did you do your secret blonde people handshake and make nice?” Barrett adds.

“She explained herself, and I think we understand each other,” Jack says. “What are you two talking about so secretive in here?”

“Your boyfriend has a very interesting theory, Commander,” Barret says.

Jack looks questioningly at Gabe.

“I think I know the reason Mangue would want to infect his own people,” Gabe says. “I think it’s possible that what we’re seeing here is a test run of a weaponized contagion, either created in-country or acquired from an outside source. We might just be looking at the Los Alamos of biological warfare.”

“That’s quite a logical leap, Gabe,” Jack says doubtfully.

“I don’t think so. All the pieces fit. Isolated population, denial of humanitarian relief, disease unresponsive to known treatments, and a dictator with an eye on expanding his global influence.”

“If you’re right, then we have even more reason not to fuck it up,” Jack says, dropping onto his cot.

“Not just that, chief,” Barrett says. “It also means we’ve got to take at least one of them alive.”

Jack looks back and forth between his two friends and then nods. “Alright. Let’s do it. Where’s Temple? He needs to know about this, too.”

“Already sleeping,” Gabe says. “We have second watch.”

“I’ll brief him in the morning, then,” Jack says. “We better get some sleep, too. You all ready for tomorrow, Lydia?”

“Right as a trivet, chief,” Barrett says, rising to go. “Nighty-night, loves.”

“So you and the doctor understand each other,” Gabe says, as the door closes behind Barrett.

“I still don’t entirely know what to make of her,” Jack says. “But I feel better about her being here, at least. She seems…different than I thought.”

“Well, I hope so. But something about her doesn’t sit right with me.”

“I think…I don’t know. I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

 

 

The jungle is a ceaseless cacophony of various natural sounds. The rustle and rush of broad leaves, disturbed by the wind and by animals passing through them. The shrill cries of the animals themselves, sometimes impossible to discern from one another, be it bird, primate, or something else. The seemingly perpetual presence of dripping water. The soft crush of booted feet as they trod upon the dry underbrush. But to those who have lived long in the jungle, this symphony of noises blends itself into its own kind of stillness. When one grows accustomed to the constant noise, it is the silences one listens for. The odd gaps between the usual sounds that indicate something unusual has happened.

When the next footfalls from your fellow guard’s boots do not come, for example. Then you pause. Wait breathlessly, listening, straining your ears to hear the reassuring crunch of his feet on dry leaves. Then, with the instinct of one long-accustomed to the jungle, you become aware that you are being hunted. The space between several sounds, innocuous on their own, is too regular. Too intentional. You raise your weapon, drop to your knee, and scan your field of view. Nothing. You breathe in and out, attempting to quiet your pounding heart. Is there any possibility you can negotiate the distance between your position and the open gate before the hunter sinks its claws into you?

You decide it’s your only chance. You take a deep breath, ready yourself, and spring forward. A mad dash through the heavy vegetation to the safety that lies a mere ten meters away. But it is too late. The hunter’s iron grip closes around your throat, flinging you to the ground, knocking the breath out of your lungs. You catch a split-second glimpse of ferocious, razor-sharp eyes, then you are submerged in blackness.

One by one, the patrols surrounding the CWI water-treatment facility are hunted down in the same way. The predators move swiftly, stealthily, picking off each of the eight men individually. The jungle swallows the sound.

“Demônios… demônios,” one of the patrol guards mutters in his native Portuguese.

“Os demônios não amarram os homens com cordas, estúpido,” another retorts. “Cale-se. Eles vão matar todos nós.”

They have been bound hand and foot and safely deposited some hundred yards away from the facility, tied back-to-back to await their captors’ return. They have been warned not to make a sound, or death will come swiftly. They believe it.

Not satisfied with their bounty thus far, the hunters circle, regroup, and move in for the real kill. Before anyone has time to notice that the patrols have not reported in, they have breached the very grounds that the captives had thought to flee to for safety. Faster than sight, they have leapt the tall fences, dispatched the guards within, and slipped into the building itself.

An alarm sounds. There is a rush of panicked activity, a clamor of voices ringing out in challenge and distress as the attackers descend upon them. They are tearing through the building. Coming this way. Two men rush the door. They sail back through it, collide with a wall, and crumple to the ground in heaps.

Maximé Okomo observes the chaos through the window of an office overlooking the main floor of the facility. He smiles to himself. It matters very little what the fools do to his men. They are too late. Nothing can stop it now. He seats himself in the chair before the overseers desk, calmly places his service revolver in his mouth, and fires a single shot.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Portuguese is (obviously) not very good. Please feel free to let me know if I should correct anything!


	29. Angels

Barrett’s boot connects with a guard’s mouth like the butt of a rifle. The man falls to the ground spitting out teeth and blood. She tosses another into a wall as Gabe flies past her, headed for the stairwell at the end of the main floor of the facility. Just as he reaches the top, a single gunshot rings out. He bursts into the office. Too late.

What is left of Maximé Okomo is bleeding out down the back of the chair. He reaches out and grips the dead man’s shoulder, intending to turn him around and get a better look at his face. When he touches him, he gets an odd little shock, like one gets from static electricity buildup. He withdraws his hand, frowning and shaking his fingers out, as though to clear away the sensation. It occurs to him that Okomo’s body may be trapped. He steps carefully around, gets a positive ID on the face, and re-emerges from the office.

“Okomo,” he calls out. “He shot himself.” He trots down the stairs to rejoin Jack and the others.

“Any sign of the staff or the missing scientists?” Jack asks. Negatives all around. “Alright, round up the guards. Whoever can still talk better start quick.”

As it turns out, the men guarding the facility are all mercenaries, with little reason to feel any particular loyalty to their lately deceased employer. They eagerly share what information they have, which is not copious, with their captors. They have been told that they are working under Okomo for President Mangue. Their objective was to secure the water treatment facility which had fallen into the hands of political rebels. They recall the three white scientists, who were arrested and sent to Mangue. They claim that they had believed the employees of the facility to be rebel soldiers, and had only dealt with them according to their orders. The bodies have been buried on the grounds. Just as they are saying this, there is an explosion of rapid popping sounds in the distance to the south.

“What the fuck is that?” Jack says. “Gabe, ask them.”

Gabe repeats the question in Spanish. The guards look at each other nervously, but none speak. Gabe takes a menacing step toward them.

“The alarm, sir,” one cries out in English. “Our men in the village must have panicked when the alarm sounded.”

Before the guard’s sentence is all the way out of his mouth, Gabe has vanished, moving like a black blur out of the building.

“Shit,” Jack says. “Temple, Barrett, restrain these men. I’ll go after him.”

 

Gabe stands in the center of a ring of bodies, eyes on fire, black aramid-mesh suit slick with blood. He drops a heavy automatic rifle into the mud beside the man he took it from. Someone is shouting something. He turns toward the sound. Jack is running to meet him.

“Gabriel!” he is saying. “Gabriel, stop! Enough!”

 _Gabriel_ , _Gabriel_ , a strange echo murmurs in his ears.

A tattered, emaciated crowd has begun to emerge from their huts and gather a little distance from where he stands. They are the source of the echo. They are repeating his name reverently, as though it is a chant. And something else. Other words intertwined with his name.

 _Gabriel_. _El Arcángel Gabriel_. _Ángel de la Muerte_. _Gabriel_. _Gabriel_.

The haze of blood and battle lifts slowly from his mind. They are calling him the Archangel Gabriel. Some are calling him the Angel of Death. He turns his eyes back toward the house where he interrupted one of these dead men in the act of leveling his AK-47 at a mother with an infant in her arms. It was too late for her husband. The armed men had converged on him as he ripped out their comrade’s throat. One had bayonetted him. He tore through them like tissue paper, snapping bones, crushing skulls, dropping them into the mire of blood at his feet. He stands staring dazedly at the villagers as Jack rushes to his side.

“They…they think I’m an angel,” he says, with an attempt at a sardonic smile.

Jack looks about at the gathered people. He presses the PTT button on his communication device.

“Angela,” he says. “You read?”

The murmur swells from the crowd again. _Ángeles_. _Ángeles_.

“Here, Commander,” Angela’s voice comes back in his earpiece.

“We need you ASAP. Bring everything you can. Water, medicine, your equipment to take blood samples. Everything.”

“On our way, Commander.”

The villagers are crossing themselves and bowing their heads. Those who are able begin to kneel.

“Jack, what the fuck do I do?” Gabe asks in an undertone.

“Talk to them,” Jack whispers. 

“And say what?” 

“They think you’re an angel, so just…go with it. Ask them what they need. Pray with them, if you have to. Just keep them calm till Angela gets here.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Gabe mutters.

He turns and takes a step toward the growing throng. The murmur rises to a pleading wail. Some fall on their faces.

“People of Niefang,” Gabe says loudly in Spanish. “Don’t be afraid. We are here to help you.”

Scattered cries of “Ayudanos, ayudanos, por favor.”

“Is there someone who can speak for all of you?” Gabe asks.

An old woman rises stiffly to her feet. Keeping her eyes averted, she speaks in her ancient, craggy Equatoguinean Spanish.

“I can speak for my people,” she says. “I am an elder of the village.”

“Good. Thank you, ma’am,” Gabe says. “Come and talk with me. It’s alright.”

The old woman hobbles forward and stands before the towering man. He smiles kindly down at her and takes her gnarled old hand in his. Raising her weathered, dark-skinned face, she looks up bravely into his large brown eyes.

“Tell me, abuela,” he says gently, “when did your people begin to get sick?”

“After the water stopped,” she says. “The infants and the very old began to sicken from the foul river water. We made entreaty to those men for the lives of our children. Their leader came to us and listened to our pleas. He said he could not allow us to leave, but anyone who came to the gate could have clean water each morning. We accepted it. That was when the black sickness came. Some believe the water they gave to us was cursed. But not all who drank the water became ill.”

“Has it continued to spread?”

“Not like to other plagues of this sort. It seems to strike by chance. Many of those who care for the sick or live in the same houses with them do not become sick themselves.”

“How many are sick now?”

“Forty or fifty have become ill with the black sickness since we began accepting the water. Of those, half are already dead. Some young men escaped in the night to seek the priest in Machinda and beg for his help, but none have returned.”

“Alright,” Gabe says, squeezing her hand. “Tell your people that help is on its way. We need everyone to come here to the center of the village. Can you get them to do that?”

She looks doubtful, but nods her grey head. “I will try.”

“Abuela,” Gabe says. “I swear we are only here to help you. I swear it.”

Fortified by his solemn word, the old woman hobbles back to her people and begins to speak with them. Reassuringly, some nod and hurry off into the village.

“Christ, Gabe, what happened?” Jack asks, as Gabe approaches. “Your suit is torn open.”

He indicates to a long slash down the left side of Gabe’s ribcage. Gabe looks down at it.

“Oh, that. One of the fuckers bayonetted me. Can you fucking believe that? It’s already healed. This, uh…this isn’t my blood.”

Jack suppresses a smile and shakes his head. “Help me get these bodies out of here. There’s no reason to have the local kids looking at this carnage. Even if these men were going to kill them.”

They drag the recently deceased mercenaries to a discreet distance to be identified and dealt with later. There is some movement as they reenter the village square. More of the people have emerged. They are carrying something. Children. They are carrying their children to the center of the village. No, not only children. They are carrying those who are sick and too weak to walk, as well.

Within an hour, Angela, Yun, and Miller have arrived in one of the HMMWVs and begin to set up the treatment tent. Meanwhile, Jack radios Barrett and Temple to collect the mercs out of the woods and put them and the ones left in the facility in a room where they can be detained till the team decides what to do with them.

The townspeople are wary of having their blood drawn, but the old woman, Cebisa, volunteers first. When they see that it only requires the tiniest prick of the finger, they are less reluctant. Angela’s perfect bedside manner, of course, goes a long way toward making them willing to comply. She is gentle, serene, and flawlessly efficient. She seems to radiate an aura of peacefulness all around her that calms and reassures all those with whom she comes in contact.

Her mobile blood tests consist of ingenious little devices made of clear, rectangular plastic plates fitted together like sandwiches. She applies one drop of blood from each sample to a microscopic slide, and one drop to a collection port on one of the little plastic rectangles. She then slides the plates, moving the top one a few millimeters across the surface of the bottom one. As the plates are moved, the bit of blood flows through tiny engraved channels between the plates, ending at each of six square chambers near the end of the bottom plate. The color of each square changes according to some chemical preloaded in each and how it reacts with the substances in the blood. She shows the first ten or so to Jack.

“They’re almost all negative for bacterial or viral infection,” she says, holding one up for him to examine. “But you see that green square, second from the end? That means a parasitic antigen is present in the blood. It looks as if they are suffering from a blood parasite.”

“What kind of parasite?” Jack asks, returning the device to her.

“I don’t know yet. Malaria, schistosomiasis—it could be anything. All this test does is confirm what class of infection is present. To see what it is, I’ll have to get the slides under a microscope. Yun is setting it up now.”

“Good,” Jack says. “Keep on it. I’ve got to question the mercs that were working for Okomo. I’m leaving Reyes here with you. The people have taken quite a liking to him.”

“I can see that,” she says, casting her eye outside the tent. Gabe is standing with a group of the villagers, who are lining up to clasp his hand or to hold their children up to be touched by him. “They are saying he is the Archangel Gabriel, like the one associated with the Mission in Machinda. A fortunate coincidence.”

“They have good reason to think he’s an angel,” Jack says with a smile. “They saw him take on twelve armed men singlehanded. He saved a lot of their lives.”

“Well, let us hope his effort has not been in vain,” Angela replies, taking a sample from a squirming child in its mother’s arms. “We have yet to cure the disease.”

“We will,” Jacks says, laying a hand on her shoulder. “I believe in you, Angela.”

She watches the Commander depart swiftly in the direction of the water treatment facility, then returns to her work with a sigh. She is not quite as confident as he appears to be regarding curing the affliction that threatens the Niefang villagers. She has a hunch about what it could be, and if she is correct, it will take an absolute miracle to cure it. But she has performed miracles before. She can do it again.

 


	30. Nanomachines

“What am I looking at, here?” Jack says, adjusting his eye on the microscope’s lens.

“Those are the parasites,” Angela replies. “They are entirely artificial. They are, for lack of a better term, nanomachines.”

“What is a nanomachine?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. A tiny device created to perform a specific function. Ones like these, made to mimic biological agents, are called nanites. They are very simple and measure around twenty nanometers, twenty billionths of a meter, in diameter. To give you an idea of the scale, a human red blood cell is six to eight micrometers, six to eight millionths of a meter, in diameter. They were introduced to the population through the water Okomo and his men distributed to the people here. The water we tested from those tanks outside the facility is full of them. Fortunately, that means that they are not transmitted from person to person.”

“Jesus,” Jack breathes. “What are they doing?”

“Forming into complex chains to attack the body’s cells. This is a sample from a subject who has active plague symptoms. It appears that they lie dormant in the blood until some signal or catalyst activates them. That is why the sickness does not behave like a contagion. It isn’t one. They were controlling them somehow, and those who became sick were made sick intentionally. Now look at this one.”

She removes the slide and attaches a second. Jack looks into the lens.

“These ones are dormant. This sample was taken from a villager who has no symptoms of the disease.”

“How can you tell these are dormant?” Jack asks. “They look the same to me.”

“What do you mean they look the same?” Angela says, suddenly alarmed. “Let me see.”

Jack moves away and allows her to look into the microscope. She removes the slide and examines another from the same set, then another, and then another.

“Scheisse,” she whispers. She looks up at Jack, pale and wide-eyed. “Commander, the nanites in these samples were all dormant a few hours ago. Something has activated them.”

“Meaning—”

“Meaning that all of these people, everyone who drank the water Okomo’s men gave them, are going to die.”

“There has to be something we can do.”

“I—I don’t know if there is. I don’t have the time or equipment necessary to take these things apart and figure out how they were activated, let alone discover how to deactivate them.”

“Okomo,” Jack says. “You said this was a test-run, and that he must have had a way to control them, right? So maybe he transmitted some kind of signal to activate them before he shot himself.”

“Maybe…or maybe his death _was_ the signal. I need a sample of his blood immediately. Is his body with those of the other mercenaries?”

“No, we haven’t moved him. Gabe says he got a shock when he tried to move him before. He thinks the body is rigged with a trap.”

“It is far more likely that it was just static buildup from his aramid-mesh,” she replies, hastily gathering her gear. “Either way, it is a risk I will have to take.”

“I’m coming with you,” Jack says. “I’ll alert the others to the situation on the way.”

Jack opens a transmission and informs the team of what they have discovered, telling them to be prepared to have a lot of sick people on their hands very shortly, and to do what they can to keep the people calm.

Gabe listens to Jack’s transmission in his earpiece, acknowledges, and goes in search of Cebisa. He finds her at a cooking fire. She wearing a brilliantly colored red, green, and black dress with a matching head scarf, and is stirring a large pot containing some kind of stew. Inhabitants of the village are lined up with tin bowls and mugs, which she fills for them as they come to her. She sees Gabe approaching and offers a bowl to him. He smiles and shakes his head.

“No, thank you, abuela,” he says in Spanish. “I’m not hungry. May I have a word with you in private?”

She hands off the ladle to her daughter, a stout, sturdy woman of about fifty, dressed similarly to her mother, then follows Gabe, wiping her gnarled hands on her floral-patterned apron. They stop under a massive tree a few meters away, out of earshot of the people gathered around the fire.

“Cebisa,” Gabe says, “I want to thank you. You have been a great help to us in this situation. But I am afraid I am going to have to ask you for your help again.”

“What can I do for you, Señor Gabriel?” she says, smiling up at the handsome young man.

“I need you to know that I trust you,” Gabe says. “And I need you to trust me. So I am going to tell you the whole truth.” He takes a deep breath. “My friends and I…we are not who we have pretended to be. We are spies, sent here by our government to remove the rebels from the water treatment facility. But I swear to you, we are only acting in the best interests of your people.”

She reaches up and pats his cheek, giving a dry, cracking chuckle.

“My dear boy,” she says. “I am old, but I am no fool. I have spoken to real angels, and I know you are not one of them. But I believe you are a man of your word. If you say your intentions are honorable, then I trust you.”

“Thank you, abuela,” he says, looking gravely down into her ancient face. “Because what I am going to ask from you will require quite a leap of faith.”

He pauses, reluctant to reveal the dreadful news to the old woman. She holds his gaze with her bright, black eyes. He speaks rapidly and quietly, watching intently for her reaction.

“The men who came here and shut down the water treatment facility, they intentionally infected your people with the parasites that cause what you call the black sickness. They were using your village as a testing ground for a new biological weapon. The reason it does not behave like other contagions is because they had a way to control it. When their leader killed himself, however, all the parasites which cause the disease were activated. Everyone who drank the water his men distributed will fall under the black sickness very soon. I will need you and those others who have not taken any of the water to help us tend to the sick and keep them calm while we prepare a cure.”

“How do you know I did not drink the water?” she asks, with a twinkle in her eye.

“I knew you were too wise to take such a dubious gift, abuelita,” Gabe grins. “But the blood tests my friend administered confirmed it. There were only eight of you who did not test positive for the parasite antigen. All members of your immediate household. How did your family manage to avoid the water?”

“I have lived long in this world, my son,” she says. “I have seen many good ideas go astray. I never trusted in the water that came from that factory. My family has been distilling our own water from the river for many years, and it is no secret that we use only the water we produce. The whole village knows of it. They have generally treated us as if we were a bit touched in the head for doing so. After the water factory shut down, it seemed less ridiculous to them. Some begged for help, and we shared as we could, but we are able to make so little, that no one expected us to supply the needs of the whole village. Besides, most did not believe the water the men gave us to be the cause of the sickness. Among them was my grandson, Ignacio. He…he was with the young men who went to Machinda to seek the priest.” She looks up into Gabe’s eyes and he sees that there are tears on her old cheeks. “He is dead, isn’t he.”

“Yes, he is,” Gabe says gently. “I am sorry.”

She nods slowly, seating herself stiffly on the trunk of a fallen tree. Gabe sits beside her and takes her hand.

“I knew it was so,” she says with a sigh. “Ignacio came to me in a dream. He told me to tell his mother not to weep for him. He said he was going to his rest in paradise, where the Blessed Virgin would tend to all his needs.” She brushes her tears away abruptly. “But this is an old woman’s foolishness. Tell me what I can do to help, Gabriel.”

“Some of my friends have set up an emergency water purifier at the river close by. I need you to show the people that they can trust this water, and help us distribute it to them. Also, I need your advice. They are going to become very ill, and we need them to stay calm and stay here, so we can treat the sickness as soon as possible. How should we handle that?”

“I would say do not bring the safe water to them until after they have become ill, or they will certainly think it is the cause. As to the origin of the sickness, I would tell them just what you have told me. The truth is always the best choice.” She pauses and gazes keenly up at him. “Gabriel, do you truly believe your friends can cure this sickness?”

“I don’t know,” Gabe says frankly. “But we are going to try our best.”

“Very well,” she replies. “I will quietly gather the other elders and tell them what you have told me. Then we will make the people aware of the situation. Some may wish to leave, no matter what we say. Do you plan to stop them?”

“No. No one is a prisoner here. Do your best to convince them, though. The disease can’t be transmitted from person to person, but leaving here now would still mean certain death for them.”

Gabe helps her rise laboriously to her feet. She shakes his hand and departs on her errand, and he heads for the medical tent to tell Jack about their conversation. He finds Yun by herself, removing a tray filled with little glass tubes from a slot in the large, boxy machine Angela brought with her medical equipment.

“Hey Reyes,” she says, with an attempt at cheerfulness. “Any good news?”

“Not much,” he replies, dropping into a metal folding chair near her work station. “Jack and the doc still out?”

“Yeah, but they should be back any minute. You didn’t happen to see Miller anywhere did you?”

“Nope. Why?”

“He was supposed to be helping me with these water samples,” she says, sliding a new tray into the slot. “He said he was going out to take a piss like an hour ago.”

“You want me to look for him?”

“Nah, I could call him if I wanted him to come back that badly,” she laughs. “I don’t really need his help. Besides, he’s been kind of a pill lately.”

“Why’s that?” Gabe asks, watching her squeeze a drop of red fluid from a little ampoule into each of the glass tubes.

“Well, this is between you and me, but he asked Barrett out on a date last week. She said no, and he’s been a grouch ever since.”

“I thought she was gay,” Gabe says distractedly. The water in the tubes is bubbling and turning a bright blue color.

“I—I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Yun says, turning to conceal a little blush.

“Wait a minute, Min-Ji. Don’t you try to pull that innocent act with me. Are you saying that you and Barrett—”

“Sh! Gabe, shut up!” she hisses in an urgent whisper. “Someone will hear you!”

“What’s the big deal? Everyone on the planet knows about me and Jack.”

“There’s nothing going on between us. She doesn’t even know I like her that way. I—I haven’t had the guts to say anything.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s so…out of my league, I guess. Plus, I don’t know if she’s even gay.”

“Why’s that one a different color?”

“What?”

Gabe points to the tray of tubes Yun has been dropping the reagent into. Sure enough, among the blue vials, one has remained pink.

“Holy shit, we found one!” she says delightedly.

“One what?”

“These are water samples from the tanks the mercs were using. Each of them has been treated with one of Dr. Z’s parasite control formulations. The reagent tests for the presence of the the parasitic antigen by turning blue when it reacts with it. But this one is pink, meaning there’s no parasitic antigen in it. It looks like we might have found our bug-killer.”

At that moment, Jack and Angela return with the blood sample from Okomo. Yun directs the doctor’s attention to the water sample in the tray, and the two walk away talking rapidly in hushed voices. Jack leans on the back of the chair and rests his chin on top of Gabe’s head.

“Hey baby,” Gabe says. “How you holding up?”

“As well as I can be,” Jack sighs. “The mercs are freaking out. They’re already beginning to show plague symptoms. Angela says they’re the first to exhibit because they’ve consumed much more of the tainted water. Barrett and Temple have them under control, but it’s difficult to see them so helpless and terrified. I know they’re hired killers, but they’re human beings and a lot of them are barely out of their teens. How are you, though?”

“A little tired, but none the worse for wear. I talked to the village elder, Cebisa. She’s speaking with the other elders now. They’re going to explain the situation to their people and try to keep them calm while we figure this out.”

“Good,” Jack says, coming around and sitting in a chair beside Gabe’s. He looks into his face for a moment. “But Gabe, you’re sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah,” Gabe says, absently stroking the thick, bristly hair on his chin. “Why?”

“Nothing. You just…you do seem tired to me. There are cots in here. Maybe you should try to get some sleep.”

“Sweetheart, listen. I know what you’re worried about, but I promise I’ll be fine. I’ve killed men in combat before.”

“Yes, but Gabe, this was different. You killed twelve men with your bare hands. That must—”

“Jack, we are weapons,” Gabe interrupts. “You know it as well as I do. I functioned as I was meant to function, and I saved innocent lives by doing so. I’m not worried about it, so don’t worry about it for me, ok?”

“Ok,” Jack says reluctantly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Gabe says, smiling into Jack’s sapphire blue eyes. “I like that you’re looking out for me. Even if you are kind of a mother hen sometimes.”

“Well, I can’t pass up the chance to give you a taste of your own medicine,” Jack grins. “When we’re at home, you’re definitely the mother hen. Speaking of which, I still think you need to rest. Go get some sleep on one of the cots in there. That’s an order, Agent Reyes.”

“Shut the fuck up and kiss me, Commander Morrison.”

 


	31. Omnica

Gabe lies on a cot in the medical tent, attempting to sleep. Commander Andreev has trained the team in special methods of meditation for blocking out the constant noise disruptions caused by their enhanced hearing, but he finds that none of these avail him at all tonight. He tunes out the clatter and conversation of Angela and Yun, who are working nearby, only to be assailed by the cacophony of sounds from the village. The people are weeping and moaning over the terrible news they have heard. In a matter of hours, they will all be sick. Many may die. Their wailing lamentations drill themselves through Gabe’s brain till he can’t lie still any longer.

He sits up and shakes himself. The air in the tent is stifling and he’s burning with thirst. He gets up and grabs his purifying canteen, takes a deep draught, then pours some over his face. The water is tepid and stale, but it’s enough to cool his aching head. He is able to suppress the noise from the villagers, directing his focus further out into the deep jungle surrounding the town. The soft, natural, night sounds have an instant calming effect on his racing thoughts. He draws a long breath and lies back down.

As he is drifting in and out of a fitful sleep, he becomes gradually aware of another sound, interspersed with the irregular organic din of the trees and animals. One more methodical and intentional. He focuses his attention, and instantly recognizes the stealth-trained footfalls of one of his teammates. It must be Miller. But what is he doing out there? It sounds as if he is stalking something. Yes. He has stopped. He’s waiting for something to happen. Gabe is wide awake now, listening intently for Miller’s next move.

There it is. Feet striking earth, a rush forward, a clang like a baseball hitting an old steel garbage can somewhere up in the tree canopy. Then a strange mechanical whine as whatever was struck careens down through the foliage and crashes to the ground with a hollow, metallic crunch. Miller’s footsteps are coming back this way. Gabe jumps up and goes to the side of the tent. In a few minutes, Miller comes into view, carrying something with him. He sees Gabe and waves as he approaches.

“Hey, I heard some commotion out there,” Gabe says. “What’s that?”

“It’s a fucking spy drone,” Miller replies, entering the tent. “I’ve been tracking it for a couple hours. Let’s take a look at it.”

He drops the thing on the floor and Gabe switches on an electric lamp. It appears to be made of metal, painted a matte grey color. It has a translucent black plastic protuberance on one end that looks as if it conceals a camera, and four rotors with tiny propellers, one of which is has been smashed to bits.

“Where did you find this thing?” Gabe asks.

“I went out for a piss earlier and I thought I heard something buzzing around above me, so I got low and waited. Then I caught a glimpse of it weaving in between some trees. It wasn’t grey before. It was camouflaged to look like the jungle. Pretty good camo, too. It was almost invisible. I lost eyes on it a few times, but I was able to track it by ear. It’s been circling the village, staying right inside the treeline. It started to swoop in lower, near some of the houses, so I snuck up on it and pitched a rock into its propellers. What the fuck does this mean? Who’s spying on us?”

“It can’t mean anything good,” Gabe says. “Hang on a minute.”

He steps through the flap to the adjoining area of the tent, where Jack, Angela, and Yun are discussing the parasitic nanites.

“Hey Jack, you better come have a look at this.”

Jack looks up and nods, holding up a finger to indicate he’ll be with them in a minute. Exactly fifty-nine seconds later, he joins Gabe and Miller in the sleeping area.

“Hey, Commander,” Miller says. “I think I caught a real live spy drone.”

He recounts his capture of the thing for Jack as the three inspect it.

“There’s no marking on it anywhere to indicate who it belongs to or who made it?” Jack asks.

“None I can see,” Miller says. “But we’ll find out more once I crack it open.”

“Do it. I need to report in to Colonel Lawrence in a couple of hours. Hopefully we’ll know more about our little intruder by then. If not, at least now we know to keep our eyes peeled for more of them. Good work, Miller.”

“Thanks, chief.”

“Any word on the parasites?” Gabe asks.

“The doc is working on Okomo’s blood sample now. She and Yun seem to have an idea brewing. I’ll keep you posted.”

Jack departs and Miller follows to fetch his tools. Gabe stares at the inert machine on the floor. By some bizarre trick of his fatigued mind, the thing suddenly gives him the strong impression of an insect lying helpless with a wing torn off. He fights back an intense urge to smash it and put it out of its misery.

“Hey, Reyes, you ok?” Miller says, stepping back through the tent flap.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” Gabe says. “The Commander ordered me to rest, though. I’m going to lie down while you open it up, ok?”

“Fine by me. Should I take it to the other room?”

“No, I’m not going to be able to sleep anyway. I’d rather watch you take it apart than lay here with nothing to look at but the walls.”

Gabe lies down on a cot. Miller seats himself cross-legged on the floor and opens a roll of tools. Gabe watches him as he pries off the plastic shielding with a flat head screwdriver, then begins to dig around in the open cavity with a pair of needle-nosed pliers. He doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep till he wakes with a start and sits bolt-upright, heart pounding.

“Sorry, man,” Miller says with a laugh. “I didn’t mean to wake you. This piece snapped off suddenly and made a hell of a racket.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Gabe says, attempting to catch his breath. He has been dreaming that the drone Miller is working on is screaming in pain as it is being torn apart. The screeching, metallic voice is still ringing in his ears. He looks at the floor, where Miller has disassembled the thing almost completely, and arranged the parts in little groups. “How long was I out?”

“Two hours, I think. I kind of lost track of time. Hey, you ever heard of a company called Omnica?”

“Nope. Should I have?”

“I never heard of it either, but it’s almost the only identifying mark on this thing.” He holds up a green circuit board with a metallic rectangle on one side. The word “Omnica” is engraved in it in small, precise characters. He flips the board over to show Gabe the other side. “There’s some kind of serial number on here, too. I’m familiar with the manufacturers of most of these kinds of devices, but I don’t recognize it as any of theirs. Let’s see what the CIA’s databases have to say about it.”

He takes out his phone and snaps a photo of the serial number, then taps his screen a few times and frowns.

“Anything?” Gabe asks.

“It says the Omnica Corporation is a consumer robotics company based out of Shanghai. Apparently they deal mainly in household appliances. Automated vacuum cleaners, smart refrigerators, and the like.” He laughs out loud. “This serial number is registered to a model of programmable espresso machine.”

“Well, it looks like this one is malfunctioning pretty severely.”

“That, or someone yanked out the motherboard and used it to build this thing. But it doesn’t look hacked together. I mean, it’s definitely a professional factory job. And this is a pretty complex motherboard for a coffee maker. What the fuck is going on here?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Let’s show Jack what you found. Maybe the Colonel will have some insight.”

 

“So you found our little spy in the sky,” Colonel Lawrence says through Jack’s earpiece. “Sorry about that. Aleksei thought it would be prudent to have a way to keep an eye on things over there. I would’ve warned you to look out for it, but that sneaky fuckin’ Russian didn’t tell me he'd activated it.”

“So the drone is ours,” Jack says. “That’s good news at least. But, boss, you should know…Miller kind of…destroyed it.”

The Colonel laughs heartily. “Well, I can’t say I blame him. Y’all had no way of knowin’ it was ours. Let Miller know he’s lucky we ain’t takin’ it out of his paycheck, though. Those things don’t come cheap.”

“Yes, sir,” Jack says. “Boss, if I may, why is the serial number registered to a programmable espresso machine?”

The colonel laughs again. “That’s a bit of necessary fiction to keep our discretionary spending concealed, and for some other reasons. It’s a whole complicated thing I won’t get into now. I can tell you that the Omnica Corporation isn’t just in the business of making kitchen gadgets. They’re one of the DoD’s top contractors. We use them for everything from explosive ordnance disposal bots, to drones like that one. How are things going with the plague outbreak? Any headway?”

Jack gives a full recounting of their progress thus far, including the fact that Angela now thinks she has a way to beat the parasites.

“I knew she could do it,” the Colonel says. “Outstanding. Keep us posted.”

“One more thing, boss.”

“What is it?”

“Agent Reyes, sir. His actions in support of the mission have gone above and beyond the call of duty. In addition to acting as a translator and building an excellent rapport with the locals, he neutralized twelve enemy targets singlehandedly today. He personally stopped them from murdering a group of unarmed civilians. I’d like to have him recognized for that somehow, once we get home.”

“That a fact,” the Colonel says, sounding genuinely impressed. “I’ll see what I can do. Thanks for letting me know, Jack.”

Jack returns to the medical tent. Gabe and Miller enjoy the news about the spy drone exceedingly, and Miller takes Gabe’s raillery about destroying government property with good humor. They are picking over the machine’s various components, when Angela comes to the door in the tent and beckons them to join her.

“I think I have the solution,” she says, as they gather around her work station. She indicates to the microscope, continuing to speak as they each take a look through the lens. “These are the parasites from Okomo’s blood sample. There are two types, both hundreds of times larger and more complex than the nanites in the blood of the villagers and mercenaries. If you think of them like a hive of bees, then these are the queens and her sisters, and the others are the drones.

When Okomo died, the queens released a distress signal, much like bees do when they are killed, releasing a pheromone that signals the other bees in the hive to attack. The sisters, however, are still alive in his blood. These are the key to shutting down the drones. The sister-queens are sterile. However, when the hive is threatened or in famine, the sisters remove themselves and seek new hives. Once entrenched, one of them spontaneously undergoes a metamorphosis into a reproducing queen. The theory here is not much different.

Yun and I have introduced the sister-queens into the water samples containing active drones. In every case so far, the drones have returned to their dormant state. The change is extremely rapid. Additionally, the sisters we have placed in the water have already begun to self-replicate at an astounding rate. Within twenty-four hours, there will be enough of them to treat the entire population. All they will have to do is drink the water containing the new sister-queens.”

“But, Angela,” Jack says. “Infecting all the villagers with more parasites…won’t that just exacerbate the problem?”

“That is an excellent question,” she says. “But I have a solution. The anti-parasite treatment that has successfully killed the drones in the water sample is highly experimental. At this stage, it would require massive doses, far too dangerous for human subjects, in order to effectively destroy all of the drones in their blood. However, at lower doses, it works on a principle of attrition, causing sterility in the parasites so they can no longer reproduce. Then their natural life cycle terminates, and without new generations being born, they are eventually flushed from the host’s system in the waste. We have found that the treatment causes such sterility in the nanite queens at doses low enough to be safe for humans. Our plan is to wait until enough of them have been produced to treat the population, then we will add the sterility component to the water and administer it to the people.”

“But won’t the queens dying activate the drones again?” Miller asks.

“No.These machines are highly complex, almost identical to biological organisms. They operate in the same way. Death at the natural end of the life cycle does not cause them to release the activating pheromone.”

“How can you tell so quickly?” Gabe asks. “That the treatment makes them sterile?”

“Their replication cycle is quite rapid. A new queen begins producing within twenty minutes or so.”

“And you’re certain it’ll work?” Jack says.

“There is no one-hundred percent certainty, even in science, Commander,” Angela replies. “But I am confident enough in this solution, that I would be willing to stake my own life on it, were it possible.”

“Alright. That’s good enough for me. Let’s get it going.”

“We will add the parasites to the clean water from the purifier we set up,” Angela says. “Miller, Yun, if you will assist me?”

“Gabe, you go find your friend in the village,” Jack says. “Let her know we’ll have a cure ready in twenty-four hours. I’m going up the CWI facility to brief Barrett and Temple. Meet me back here in an hour.”

 


	32. Surf's Up

Jack is standing in a war zone. A bullet whizzes past his ear. Bark explodes from the bole of a huge tree behind him. A solid weight slams into his side, knocking him into the thick carpet of vegetation that covers the ground.

“God damn it, Cap!” a man is shouting. “You’re gonna get yourself killed! We’re pinned down. We gotta return fire!”

Jack nods. The man signals to some others close by. They charge forward into the jungle, weapons at the ready. Jack follows, but he keeps his sidearm holstered. They crouch at the next cover. Dirt and fragments of foliage erupt all around them. The rattling barrage of small-arms fire throughout the wooded area momentarily drowns out the screams of Jack’s scattered unit. They are dying. There is nothing he can do.

The man beside him pops up to return fire. His blood drenches Jack’s uniform as he tumbles down on top of him. Jack writhes out from beneath the dead weight. He is staring down the barrel of an AK-47, wielded by five-foot-tall, skinny-armed little soldier. The other men are in the same position. They are surrounded. They look to him for guidance. He raises his hands to signal surrender. The others do the same. Children with Kevlar helmets on their heads yank his sidearm from the holster. They grapple him and try to drag him to his feet. He gets up.

“Hands on head! Hands on head!” A boy of maybe twelve years old barks.

The tall, muscular Marine captain obeys. His men obey. There are six of them left. They are herded along at gunpoint to the break in the trees. They cross a dirt road into an encampment comprised of little mud huts with tin roofs. The men are taken to one of these huts and locked in a cell. Jack is taken alone to another and bound hand and foot to a metal chair. The first adult he has seen so far swaggers in with Jack’s sidearm in his hand and a cigarette in his mouth. He’s wearing drab green military trousers and a pink tank top that says “Surf’s Up.” He has a bandolier full of rifle shells strapped around his chest like an outlaw in a western movie.

“Officer,” he says with a yellow-toothed grin. “What you called?”

Jack stares past him at the wall.

“Name, officer,” the man snarls. “Your name!”

Jack looks at him, blue eyes icy and resolute, mouth firmly shut. The man belts him across the face with the gun. Jack sees stars. He doesn’t speak.

“You want to play like that?” the man says. “I can play like that.”

He pulls down the neck of Jack’s undershirt and grinds the burning ember of his cigarette into Jack’s skin above the collarbone. Jack does not respond. Not verbally, not physically, not in any way. He simply stares silently into the middle distance. The man calls out the door in some language Jack doesn’t understand. Probably Yakoma or Ngbandi.

“They bring my things,” the man says, lighting another cigarette. “Last chance, officer.”

Jack ignores him. A few minutes pass, then a young boy enters carrying a heavy case. He sets it on the floor and tinkers with something inside it. The man tears open Jack’s uniform top and slashes his undershirt from collar to waist with a buck knife. The boy hands the man a long, orange tube with two metal pegs sticking out of one end, and a lead connecting it to the box on the floor snaking out from the other end. Jack recognizes it as a picana. An electrical torture device similar to a cattle prod. The boy dumps a canteen of water over Jack’s bare chest and steps back.

“We play now,” the man says, brandishing the baton. “Then maybe you feel like talking.”

Jack’s body racks and seizes as searing lightning bolts of pain tear through his chest, up his throat, and split his mind into fragments. His teeth clamp together so hard they feel as if they’re cracking. He foams at the mouth. His vision goes white. He opens his eyes and he is looking through a doorway into a room full of uniformed men. They are lying on the floor, some moaning, some stirring fitfully in a fevered sleep. All of them are dying.

“Jack?” a soft voice says beside him. He looks down at the speaker.

“Barrett,” he says. “I apologize. My mind was wandering. What did you say?”

“I asked if the doc knows how sick these men are. I think they should be treated first, since they’ve got the worst of it.”

“She knows,” the Commander replies. “And she will treat them. But they are hostile enemy combatants. The innocent civilians come first.”

“But, Jack—” Barrett begins.

“Commander, Agent Barrett,” he says curtly.

“Commander,” she says quietly, taken aback by the stern rebuff from her friend. “They are going to die.”

“That is a risk they undertook when they became mercenary soldiers. Do I need to remind you that some of their comrades shot unarmed civilians today?”

“No, sir,” she says. “But those men were dealt with. These ones—”

“These ones would have done the same, Agent Barrett. They have done the same. They murdered the civilian workers who were operating this facility. We will do what we can to save them, but they are not the priority here. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Agent Temple, you and Barrett keep a close eye on them. If there is any change in their condition, notify me immediately and I’ll bring the doctor up.”

“Yes, sir,” Temple says.

The Commander turns on his heel and strides briskly away, heading back to meet with Reyes at the medical tent. Barrett stands blinking dumbly after him as he exits the building.

“Hey, Lydia,” Temple says. “He’s probably pretty stressed. I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I—I know,” she says, her husky voice tight with emotion. “But…Jack and I are friends. He’s never spoken to me that way before. Have you ever seen him like that?”

“No,” Temple replies. “But I’ve seen that kind of thing before. A lot of men are different in combat situations than they are at home.”

“I have as well, but not like that. He was like…an entirely different person.”

“It could be worse,” he shrugs. “He could be one of those guys who seem tough and then totally fall apart under pressure.”

“I suppose so,” she says, sounding unconvinced.

“Look, I always thought Morrison was an odd choice for Commander. He seemed kind of…soft, to be honest. But if this is how he is in the field, I think I can understand why the Colonel chose him for the job. It’s not a bad thing that he can be a professional and keep personal feelings out of it.”

“No, you’re right,” she says. “It just startled me a bit, you know? I’m not used to all this. I’m just a pilot. We don’t usually have to get down in the trenches and see the ugly side of the business.”

“Well, you could’ve fooled me. You kicked some serious ass today, lady.”

“I did, didn’t I,” Barrett replies, a smile sneaking across her pretty face. “But don’t call me lady, Ezra, it makes it sound as if you think I’m an old woman.”

“You know I don’t think that,” he says with a chuckle. “You’re only two years older than me.”

“And I’m six years older than the Commander. I wonder how long it’ll take me to actually become an old woman, now that I’m a superhero and all.”

“Well, if Colonel Lawrence is any indication, and we’re the newer model, maybe never. The doc said even she doesn’t know how much longer we’ll live than regular people.”

“It’s a strange idea, isn’t it,” she says. “Living for so long. I’m not sure I want to.”

“I might. I kind of like the idea of being young and healthy enough to see all the changes the world will have undergone in, say, fifty years. Don’t you?”

“Hm. I hadn’t really thought of—” She breaks off, interrupted by a fit of hoarse coughing from one of the detained mercenaries.

The man’s suffering recalls them both to the situation at hand. With a mutual pang of remorse, they realize they’ve been discussing their own practical immortality while they watch over captive enemies who may very possibly die in agony within the next twenty-four hours. They limit their conversation to operational matters from that point on.

Jack finds Gabe already back at the medical tent. He is lying on a cot staring up at the dark green canvas ceiling.

“How’d it go with the village elder?” Jack asks, flopping down onto a cot beside Gabe’s.

“Fine. She’s happy to tell them all the good news. Speaking of which, how are we going to get the water treatment facility running again? The trained employees are all dead.”

“The Boss didn’t mention it,” Jack says. “He didn’t respond to what the mercs said about the scientists being arrested and sent to Mangue either. I was more concerned with the immediate issue of controlling the parasites, so I didn’t press him on it, but I’ll ask him when I report in tomorrow. I suppose there’s a plan for those things.”

Gabe grunts his acknowledgment and shifts uncomfortably on his cot. Jack rolls onto his side to look at him.

“What’s bothering you, Gabe?”

“It’s probably nothing,” Gabe says. “But the spy drone, the nanites, the bizarre solution the doctor came up with in almost no time…none of this sits right with me. I can’t help feeling like someone isn’t telling us something.” He turns his head toward Jack and smiles self-consciously. “I sound totally paranoid, don’t I.”

“No,” Jack says. “I’ve got the same kind of feeling. The drone, I don’t particularly care about. We’re already under constant monitoring with our phones, and Commander Andreev doesn’t strike me as a man who would have many scruples about spying on his own people. Any KGB operative would be accustomed to that as common practice. But the parasites, I don’t know. There was something that stuck with me…something Angela said…” he trails off, shaking his head.

Gabe reaches out and clasps his hand, letting their arms dangle between the cots.

“What did Angela say, Jack? Come on. You have to talk to me about these things.”

“She said she didn’t have the time or equipment to take the nanites apart and find out how they work. But a couple of hours later, she was talking like a seasoned expert in the things. All that had changed was that she’d seen Okomo’s blood sample. I can’t fathom how she arrived at her conclusion so quickly and with so little data.”

“You think she’s taking a shot in the dark?”

“No, it doesn’t seem like it. It seems like she came into this situation knowing more about them than she let on.”

“So you still don’t trust her,” Gabe says. “I thought you two understood each other now.”

“It’s not that I distrust her intentions. I think she really wants to help these people. I just don’t think we’re getting the full story.”

“What are you going to do?”

“It won’t do any good to question her about it now. We’ll have to see how this plays out. But when we get home, I think I’ll do some more digging.”

“Well, don’t dig yourself into a hole with the Boss. He seems to trust her pretty much implicitly.”

“Hey, Gabe…do you get the impression that she actually works for him?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t see their relationship as being very much like one between a superior and subordinate. Not if he’s the ostensible superior. If anything, I would say it’s the reverse.”

“You think the doctor is secretly the Colonel’s boss?” Gabe says. “Ok, Jack, now _you_ sound paranoid.”

“I was right about the genetic enhancement,” Jack says. “Everyone said I was nuts, but I was extremely correct. What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Gabe says, laughing outright. “It’s just…that’s pretty fucking adorable, baby.”

“What?”

“Saying you were ‘extremely correct.’ I’ve never met anyone who one talks like you do.”

“That’s why you like me,” Jack says, playfully swinging Gabe’s arm between their cots.

“Maybe it is. Remember that night when I ran into you at that dive bar outside Leavenworth and we went and fucked in your room?”

“I do.”

“I told you how hot you were and you said you were ‘aware that you were considered to be traditionally attractive,’ but that no one had ever called you hot before. I think I fell in love with you right then.”

“What? Why? Because I was too weird to talk like a normal person?”

“Because you were too naturally truthful to try. You may have been confused about yourself, but you never consciously tried to be anything you weren’t. Not with me.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Jack says. He pauses, gazing thoughtfully up at the ceiling for a moment. “You’re right. My whole life I’ve used all kinds of social masking behaviors to conceal my…differentness. But I never used any with you. I never felt like I needed to. I think that’s why I fell in love with you. You took me as I was and didn’t want me to be anything else.” He turns those big blue eyes on him, with a look that still makes Gabe’s heart skip a beat. “I love you, Gabriel. Thank you for loving me, too.”

Gabe rolls off his cot and kneels beside Jack, taking his face in his hands and kissing him tenderly. He draws away and strokes Jack’s pale blonde hair.

“Don’t thank me, Jack. Just…don’t ever stop loving me, ok?”

“I suppose I won’t, then. If you’re going insist,” Jack says, grinning impishly. But he sees how earnest Gabe’s face has become and his playful smile vanishes. “I won’t, Gabe. Of course I won’t stop loving you. Never. What’s gotten into you? Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m ok,” Gabe says, his grave expression softening. “I think maybe the mission has been getting to me more than I supposed. I got this strange feeling like you might suddenly slip away from me. It must be all this talk about plagues and people’s families dying. That village elder, Cebisa, her grandson was one of the young men who escaped to Machinda and died of the nanite infection there. I’m not great with the idea of…loss. You know?”

“I know, Gabe. I’m sorry. This must be hard for you.”

“No harder than it must be for you,” Gabe says, smiling down at his handsome companion. “And at least you’re keeping your head on straight and not getting all emotional over it like a girl.”

“That’s sexist, Agent Reyes,” Jack says with mock severity. “Don’t make me reprimand you.”

“Oh yeah?” Gabe retorts, wrapping his strong arms around Jack. “Try it, cariño. See what it gets you.”

“Maybe I will, when we get home.”

Gabe leans down to kiss Jack, so of course, this is the moment Miller enters the tent in search of them.

“Oh, sorry, Commander,” he says, turning away awkwardly. “There’s an old woman from the village looking for Reyes.”

“Cebisa,” Gabe says, hopping to his feet with a look of anxious concern on his face. “I told her to ask for me if she needed anything. I’ll be back.”

Jack watches Gabe hurry out to meet her, smiling at the the obvious affection Gabe has for the little old African lady. Then again at the strange way she seems to have taken to Gabe, even after she must have seen him tear those men apart bare-handed. He realizes with a chill that to her, violence is a day-to-day part of life, not an exceptional circumstance by which to be dismayed and horrified. He wonders what will happen to this little village after they are gone. Will anything they have done make any real difference? The answer his mind returns does not comfort him. He pushes these thoughts away and returns his focus to the mission.


	33. Masks

It’s pouring rain. The team members had thought they’d experienced heavy rainfall before, but they’d obviously been wrong. This isn’t so much precipitation, as a drowning deluge. As if nature is seeking to wash herself clean of the human blight that mars her beautiful landscapes. But they persist. They always do. Soaked to the skin, rain beating on their faces, up to their ankles in mud, they persist. They make quick work of carrying the heavy drums of water back to the village. Mocking nature with their speed and efficiency, despite her best attempts to thwart their progression through her tangled undergrowth.

As quickly as Jack, Gabe, Barrett, and Temple bring the water, Angela, Miller, and Yun distribute it among the people. The sickest first. These require assistance, as most are too weak even to sit up. Cebisa and her family members help lift them gently, hold the cups to their lips, and speak soothing words as they swallow what they can. The mercenaries who are still alive, ten of the seventeen, have been brought to the medical tent. They are no threat to the villagers in their current state, and none of them would attempt escape, even if they were able.

Those who have survived the sickness begin to recover rapidly. Within seven days, they are almost entirely healthy. After ten days, they are pronounced fully recovered by the doctor, and in truth, they feel better than they had before the sickness struck them. They call the doctor an angel. They say she has performed a miracle. Some erect a little shrine to her in the center of the village. This seems to irritate her, but the Commander sees to it that she acknowledges it with proper solemnity. The people have done this from the fullness of their hearts, and such gratitude should not be checked by a cold response.

As the captive mercenaries regain their strength, they beg for mercy. For help. Their American captors seem a refuge to them. The only thing standing between them and Mangue’s certain wrath. The Commander listens to their entreaties, communicated through the one who speaks English. He designates a place for the burial of the victims of the plague and sets them about digging graves, supervised by Barrett and Temple, with whom they appear to have developed a rapport. They go to work with energy and alacrity, grateful for this seeming stay of execution.

The Commander has an idea. CWI will send volunteers to train new staff for the facility. The mercenaries would be more than fit for this task, were there some way to ensure they could be trusted. He and Agent Reyes take counsel with Cebisa and the remaining village elders. They come to an agreement. The mercenaries will sign contracts and swear oaths to remain in the village and operate the water treatment facility for two years. The Commander’s organization will pay them modest salaries on which they may live without fear of destitution. With the agreement of the elders, they will live as members of the community and their past deeds will not be held against them, so long as they behave lawfully and fulfill their contracts to keep the clean water flowing. If they should break their contracts, their identities will be publicized. They will be treated as war criminals, and the Commander and his terrifying (almost superhuman, some say) subordinates will come after them. This threat is unnecessary, as they are certain that if their identities were revealed, Mangue’s government would hunt them down before the Americans had a chance.

News of the events in the village of Niefang spreads across Equatorial Guinea like wildfire. The heroic citizens of this little town rose up against the political rebel Maximé Okomo and his band of guerillas, destroyed them, and restored the CWI water treatment facility to operation. They managed to kill every single one of the rebels, and even saved the facility’s employees, who are happily back to work providing clean water to the surrounding areas. Mangue gives a speech over the radio, in which he lauds the courageous actions of the Niefang townsfolk, and vows to redouble his efforts to protect his people from the appalling deeds of such violent political rebels.

Jack and Angela have gone to Machinda to speak with Padre Nguema. Gabe sits alone on the trunk of the fallen tree where he had his conversation with Cebisa all those days ago. The village is alive with bustling activity, and everyone seems to be in high spirits. Barefooted children call out boisterous greetings as they run past him. Young women saunter by draped in the vibrant traditional garb of their people, flowers augmenting the array of colors in their neatly wound headdresses. Some wave shyly. He grins and winks, and they hurry away giggling and pretending to hide their blushes. After some time, the face he seeks appears. Cebisa makes her way slowly to the tree, greeting him with a warm handshake and a kiss on the cheek. She sits down beside him and gazes on the village for a while before she speaks.

“So, you are leaving tonight, Señor Gabriel.”

“I am, abuela,” he says, taking her gnarled old hand in his. “You are sure you understand how to use the communication device we left with you?”

“I am sure,” she laughs. “You have explained it many times. My body is worn with years, but old age has not yet dulled in my mind.”

“I didn’t mean any disrespect, my friend. I can’t help worrying for the safety of your people after we leave. I want to be absolutely certain you can communicate with us if you find yourself in danger.”

“You must stop worrying, Gabriel,” she says. “You cannot guard us against every mischance the world my have in store. We will go on or we will not, as God wills it.”

“I’d like to come back and see you again, someday. If I would be welcome, that is.”

“You will be welcome as long as I am here to say anything about it. But unless you come soon, I do not think you will find me.”

“Don’t say that,” he says, squeezing her hand. “I’m sure you’ll be around for many years still.”

She shakes her ancient head. “No, Gabriel. My days are short now. But I would not wish it otherwise. I am ready to go to my rest in paradise when I am called. I have lived a long life, and I am growing weary of the world.” She looks up gravely into his eyes. “You…you will live long in this world, Gabriel. Far beyond the span of other men. I pray that your years never weigh upon you the way mine do upon me.”

He stares dumbstruck into her bright black eyes. How can she know this? Has one of the others said something about their augmentation?

“What—what do you mean, abuela?” he says. “Why would I live longer than other men?”

“I do not know why. But I have seen it. My mother was a wise woman of our people. She had the gift of prophecy. A small part of that gift passed on to me. I can see the line of your life stretching far into the future. Too far for me to tell where it leads.” She reaches up and lays a hand on his scarred cheek. “Such a journey may become a terrible burden, especially to one who may find himself walking alone long before the end.”

He bites back an urge to ask her about Jack, reminding himself that this is nonsense, and that there is no such thing as prophecy. But his throat is tight with emotion and there is a warning sting in his eyes.

“I am already alone, abuela,” he says hoarsely.

She nods. “You lost your family. But you are not alone. You love one who also loves you. This is a great gift, Gabriel. So long as you love as we are meant to love, so long as you remain loyal to that one, you will not be alone.”

“How are we meant to love?”

“We are meant to love as God loves. We are meant to forsake our own self-interest, to give without expecting to receive, and to be faithful, sometimes without hope or promise of reward, to the very end.”

He shakes his head. “What if I’m not strong enough to…to love that way?”

“God will give you strength, my son,” she says, smiling up at him. “And I will pray for you. Now, I must go and help my daughter see to supper. You will come and say goodbye to me before you go?”

“Of course,” he says helping her rise from her seat on the tree trunk. “I couldn’t leave you without saying goodbye.”

“Remember what I have said, Gabriel,” she says as she turns to go. “Be loyal to that one.”

“I will. Thank you, abuela.”

 

As they drive away from Niefang that night, loaded into their grey HMMWVs emblazoned with the Médecins Sans Frontières logos, Gabe knows with a sinking feeling that he will never see his friend again. He stares out the window into the featureless black of the jungle night, wondering what will become of her and her people. Jack rests his head on Gabe’s shoulder and he draws him close, letting him sleep until they reach the rendezvous with the DGSE agents.

They have to debrief with the Colonel and Commander Andreev as soon as they arrive back at Langley, as well as undergo a routine medical exam required for all agents who have returned from overseas assignments. It is a tedious process that takes a couple of hours, and when he and Jack finally walk in their own front door, Gabe has never been so happy to be home. Marie, their adept housekeeper, has left fresh fruit, bread, cheese, and some other light fare, and made herself scarce for the day. It’s midmorning, but their internal clocks are entirely out of reckoning, and they find the sun’s cheery brightness disorienting.

They ignore the food and head directly for the shower. Or rather, Gabe lifts Jack in his arms and carries him to the master suite bathroom, shedding clothing along the way. Jack sets the shower running while Gabe finishes undressing, then they step under the steaming water pouring down from the Swiss shower head together. Gabe can’t keep his hands to himself and Jack pretends to scold him, till Gabe lifts him off his feet again and fucks him up against the wall. They stumble out of the shower and fall into the inviting, downy-white linens of their expansive bed. General Stonewall Jackson, Gabe’s plump, round-faced tuxedo cat, curls up between them and purrs loudly.

“Gabe, this cat has gotten even fatter since we left,” Jack says, squeezing the cat’s ample haunch. “Marie must have been giving him table scraps again.”

“Jack, how dare you!” Gabe says, covering the cat’s ears. “You’ll hurt the General’s feelings and then he’ll have you court martialed!”

The cat nuzzles his hand with its wet nose and nips affectionately at his fingertips.

“See? He’s even trying to eat you,” Jack says. “This little piglet needs to go on a diet.”

“Jack…I think the General is pregnant,” Gabe says, laying a hand on the cat’s generous belly.

“Yeah, with a ham,” Jack scoffs. He feels the cat’s belly as well. “Holy shit, he _is_ pregnant. And he’s a girl!”

“How did you manage to get yourself knocked up you little hussy?” Gabe says stroking the cat’s velvety chin. “You were supposed to be a boy.”

The General accepts the caresses, but prefers to keep her secrets as far as her romantic entanglements are concerned. Jack gets his phone and looks up “domestic cat gestation period” and arrives at the conclusion that she must have had her little indiscretion almost immediately after they acquired her from the local cat shelter. He thinks they’d better have a word with the shelter, since her delicate condition indicates that she is clearly a female, and not a neutered male, as was told to them at the time of the adoption.

“What the fuck are we going to do with kittens?” Jack says, eyeing the vibrating ball of fur in Gabe’s arms.

“We’ll figure it out, Jack,” Gabe says, setting the cat on the floor. “Now come back to bed. I haven’t fucked you in two weeks.”

“We just fucked in the shower.”

“Come on, baby. I need you. I’m starting to have all kinds of weird sex dreams.”

“Oh really?” Jack says, climbing onto Gabe’s lap. “How weird?”

“Pretty god damned weird,” Gabe says.

“Well now you _have_ to tell me.”

“Ok, but you asked. So…in one of them we were, uh…wearing masks.”

“Ooh.”

“Yeah. I mean, I knew it was you, but we couldn’t see each other’s faces. We were in some dirty, wrecked up building, fucking on the floor. And the sex was rough. Really rough. I had like, claws or something. I was digging them into your chest while I fucked you. I was cutting you up pretty badly.” He laughs at Jack’s strange expression. “Look, I told you it was weird.”

“No, I like it. It sounds hot,” Jack says, sliding his hand under the waistband of Gabe’s black underwear. “Tell me more.”

“I—ah! Fuck. I thought I must—must be hurting you,” Gabe says breathlessly. Jack has leaned over and begun to tease the head of his cock with his tongue. “But you kept saying ‘harder,’ and—you were hitting me in the face. Or, hitting me in the mask. And…oh fuck.” Jack is swallowing his cock now, stroking and sucking it urgently as he speaks. “I—came so hard…fuck, baby I’m going to come now…ha—ah!”

He grips Jack’s hair and thrusts into the back of his throat as his cock throbs violently, filling Jack’s mouth with his ejaculation. Jack swallows it, then climbs on top of him and kisses him. Gabe tastes his own come on Jack’s tongue. He is almost instantly hard again. Jack guides his thick, spit-slicked cock slowly inside himself, groaning through his teeth as it fills him up, stretching his insides almost to the breaking point. Gabe takes hold of his ass with both hands and bucks up with his hips. Jack moans and grinds up and down on his solid shaft, dizzy with the dueling sensations of pain and pleasure. Gabe’s eyes roll back and fall closed. Jack gives him a sharp, backhanded slap across the mouth.

“Harder,” he says, with a wicked grin.

Gabe’s eyes kindle and go black. In one swift motion, he rolls him over onto his back and pins him by the throat.

“You want it rough, cariño?” he snarls. “I’ll give it to you rough.”

He holds Jack down and pounds him brutally with his swollen, rigid cock.

“Harder,” Jack pants. “Harder, Gabe. Fuck me!”

Gabe pushes with all his strength, thrusting so violently, he’s afraid he’ll tear Jack apart.

“Yes,” Jack says, “Yes…fuck! Gabe, I’m gonna—”

Gabe covers Jack’s mouth with his, swallowing Jack’s long, shuddering moan as he spurts hot streams onto their stomachs between them. Gabe’s ejaculation bursts in a deep, aching spasm inside Jack. He tastes blood. He pulls back to look into Jack’s face, worried that he hurt him somehow.

“I must have hit you harder than I thought,” Jack laughs. “Your lip is bleeding.”

“Fuck, baby,” Gabe says, grinning broadly. “You weren’t kidding about wanting it rough, were you. I’ll have to tell you about my sex dreams more often.”

“Mhmm,” Jack says dreamily, stroking Gabe’s face with his fingertips.

Gabe drags himself reluctantly out of bed and goes to the bathroom to rinse his mouth. He inspects his lip where Jack hit him, but he can’t find a cut anywhere. They heal so quickly now. He reenters the bedroom and stands smiling, gazing down at Jack, who is already fast asleep. Jack stirs in his sleep and sighs as Gabe wraps his arms around him. General Jackson wedges herself into the space between their legs and purrs Gabe to sleep.

 


	34. Shearwater

“Hey, I’ll see you after lunch, ok?” Gabe says, bending down to kiss Jack’s forehead.

Jack looks up from his computer screen and smiles. “Ok. Where are you going?”

“Medical check-in with the doc. Yours is tomorrow. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t,” Jack says. He will, but Gabe will remind him.

He watches his friend leave the study, then returns to his work. He has his own office now, but he prefers to be where the other members of his team feel comfortable approaching him in a more casual manner. He finds that when he is in his office, they tend to behave more stiffly and formally toward him, and he dislikes the feeling of separation from the general camaraderie this creates. He looks up, hearing the door open again. Barrett enters, carrying a stack of files and a cup of tea.

“Hey, Lydia,” Jack says. “What’s all that?”

“A load of specs for that experimental aircraft thing they’re talking about having us try out. Likely because we won’t die when I crash it. What are you up to?”

“Research. You want to have lunch with me? Gabe has his medical check-in today.”

“Oh, Jacky, I’d love to but I can’t. I have plans.”

Jack studies her face from the corner of his eye and decides that she wants to be asked about her plans.

“Plans?” he says nonchalantly.

“I happen to have a lunch date,” she replies, smiling shyly.

“A date? With who?”

“Special Agent Shearwater, actually.”

Jack considers this silently. He has never thought of the taciturn right-hand-man of the Colonel as someone who is romantically available. He’d always seemed…above all that, somehow. As if he was some kind of perfectly efficient administrative android. He is handsome, though. He is six feet tall and athletically built. He has short, almost-black hair, and an excellent if somewhat pale complexion. His face is symmetrical and fine-featured, with a square jaw, large eyes that are perfectly grey and have no hint of blue in them, as grey eyes usually have, and a pouting, cupid’s bow mouth that gives his face a charming look of youthful insolence. Yes. Jack decides that Agent Shearwater is attractive.

“What?” Barrett says, laughing nervously. “You don’t like him?”

“I don’t really know him. But he’s always been courteous and professional.”

“That doesn’t exactly sound like a ringing endorsement, darling.”

“No, Lydia, I do like him. I’m sorry,” Jack smiles. “It’s just odd. He’s always been the Colonel’s go-between with us. I guess I didn’t think of him as someone who…dated.”

“I hadn’t either, really. But we’ve gone out for drinks a couple of times and got on smashingly. He’s a lot different when he’s not at work.”

“How so?”

“He loses a lot of that official starch and relaxes. He talks and smiles a lot more. Did you know he’s South African?”

“I had no idea,” Jack says, genuinely surprised. “He doesn’t have any hint of an accent.”

“Not a South African one,” Lydia laughs. “He has an American accent to me. He says he got rid of it when he went for medical training in the States.”

“Medical training?”

“Yeah. He was the Colonel’s combat medic for a long time. He’s a doctor, you know.”

“A doctor?” Jack says, even more surprised. “What would make him change careers like that?”

“He followed the Colonel. I think he considers being his right-hand-man a step up rather than down. He’s had the most insane life, too. I can’t tell you about it, since it was told to me in confidence, but you should talk to him some time.”

“Maybe I will. Everyone here is full of surprises, aren’t they.”

“I suppose that’s to be expected when you work with a bunch of spies. What do you mean, though? Who else is full of surprises?”

“Commander Andreev, for example. He’s a Russian aristocrat with billions in family assets, but he works for the Colonel teaching combat techniques to US military personnel and recruiting for his secret spy team. It’s pretty bizarre.”

“Well, I knew all about uncle Alex’s money,” Lydia says. “He does what he does because he likes it. Just like Gabe.”

“I think he does what he does because he likes the Colonel,” Jack says, before he can think to stop himself.

“What?” Lydia laughs. “Jacky, you don’t think he and the Colonel are…you do! You think my uncle is sleeping with our boss!”

Jack’s cheeks flush crimson and he clears his throat uncomfortably. “I—I don’t have any evidence to base that on. I really shouldn’t have said anything. It was totally inappropriate.”

“Oh, come off it,” she says, nudging him playfully. “You can say anything you want to me. I won’t tattle. I just have to know why you think that, though.”

“I don’t think I said sleeping with,” Jack says, hedging a bit. “I am not suggesting anything like that. Just that there’s some relationship there that’s…more than professional.”

“Well, it’s ok. Because you’re absolutely right.”

“What?”

“Look, if I thought they wouldn’t want you to know, I wouldn’t tell you, but uncle Alex and the Colonel have been…together for decades. Longer than I’ve been alive. I never knew about it till recently.”

“How did you find out?”

“I went to their house for dinner. Well, uncle Alex asked me over for dinner and didn’t mention that the Colonel was part of the deal. They told me they just assumed everyone knew, the cheeky old bastards.”

“They live together, too?” Jack says, utterly lost.

“Yeah. Like, five blocks from you and Gabe. I’m surprised you never ran into them out walking or anything.”

“Who else do you know about? I’m starting to feel like I don’t know the people I work with at all.”

“You should join Noah and I for lunch. If there’s anything you want to know, he’s the one to ask.”

“Noah?”

“Shearwater. Which, by the way, is not his real last name. It’s some sort of code name from a system uncle Alex dreamed up in their former occupation. All the men were called after species of birds.”

“What’s his real last name?”

“No idea. He wouldn’t tell me.”

At that moment, the subject of their conversation enters the study in search of Barrett.

“Commander,” he says, nodding to Jack. “Lydia, are you ready to go?”

“Noah, would you mind terribly if Jack came with us?” she asks. “He’s got no one to eat with today.”

“Not at all,” he replies, smiling cordially.

“I really wouldn’t want to impose,” Jack says noncommittally. In truth, he would very much like to impose. He thinks the special agent (who is apparently _not_ named Shearwater) may be a good place to start digging for information about the doctor.

“No, come on,” the young man says. “I’d be happy to have your company. Lydia talks about you pretty much nonstop.”

“Not nonstop,” she says. “Anyway, how would you know? I’ve only spent a few hours talking to you in my life.”

“And you spent most of those hours talking about him,” Shearwater rejoins.

He flashes a boyish grin, revealing a row of perfect white teeth and lighting up his large grey eyes in a way that instantly makes Jack understand why Lydia is attracted to him. He’s more than handsome, he’s almost beautiful. Jack is still attempting to work out why he hadn’t noticed this before, when he finds himself seated across from his two companions at the little deli they frequent.

“Aren’t we pretty,” Lydia says, looking back and forth between the two men. “If I’d known they grew boys like this in the States, I’d have come here much sooner.”

“I’m not from the States, Lydia,” the special agent says, with mock reproach.

“I know but it’s so easy to keep forgetting,” she says. “You sound just like a homegrown American farm boy. Jack didn’t even pick up on your accent, and he _is_ one.”

“I am,” Jack says, smiling because the other two are doing so. “What was it like growing up in South Africa, Agent Shearwater? I imagine it was quite a bit different to Cedar Rapids. ”

“It was quite a bit different to how South Africa is now. I lived there under apartheid, when things were very chaotic and violent. In fact, that’s pretty much the reason I’m here.”

“You left South Africa because of apartheid?” Jack asks, confused. “I apologize for my ignorance on the topic, but you’re…” he trails off, uncertain how to finish the sentence.

“I’m white,” Shearwater says, with an easy smile. “It’s ok, Commander, I am aware of the fact. Apartheid wasn’t exactly the reason, no. But the apartheid Group Areas Act caused most of the major turning points in my life.”

There is a pause in the conversation as the waitress arrives to take their order, then he resumes.

“First, when one of the revisions was passed, there was a lot of violent protest around the country. My parents were killed by police during a riot. It was never clear to me whether they were part of the demonstration, or they were only caught in it. I was five years old, and would have had no way to comprehend it anyway. So, my tannie Thembeka took me and raised me as her own. Tannie means the same as auntie. She was our housekeeper, but I didn’t understand the idea, so she was always just tannie Themba to me. Anyway, she took care of me. We moved around a lot and I wasn’t ever in school, but she taught me to read and write by copying scriptures from her bible while she did people’s washing and cleaning to feed us and keep a roof over our heads. When I was thirteen, we were living in Cape Town in a place called District 6. Then the Group Areas Act designated District 6 as an area for whites. Men from the government came and forced her to relocate to the area for Xhosa and other Bantu people, and they took me away from her and packed me off to an all-white boys home. I escaped and lived on the streets till I got picked up by Colonel Lawrence and his team.”

“Got picked up?” Jack says. “They came and arrested you?”

“No way,” Shearwater says, laughing. “I was just a sixteen-year-old street kid. They were after a Namibian terrorist cell that had holed up in an abandoned apartment building in the slums outside Cape Town. I was squatting there with some other street kids. The Namibians showed up with guns and took over the third floor. They had to stay hidden, so they started paying me to bring them groceries and takeout food. The Colonel’s team scouted the location and observed me leaving and returning with my deliveries. One night, when I was on my way up the stairs, the Colonel grabbed me. I told him the room number and how many men there were, and he gave me some money. I sneaked around back of the building and watched the Colonel’s men take them down as they tried to get out the fire escape. Then I begged the Colonel to take me with him. Big softie that he is, he agreed.”

The conversation lulls again, as the waitress delivers their food. Jack is spellbound by the tale of this man’s tragic and difficult life. His own trials feel petty and ridiculous when compared to such a story. He ignores his lunch almost entirely, eager to hear more.

“The Colonel took you with him? Where?” he asks.

“Well,” Shearwater says, setting his fork down. “He seemed to take a liking to me right away. After I told him about myself, he knew he couldn’t hand me over to the authorities, since I’d be arrested and pretty much doomed to the prison system and a life of waste and crime. I was known to the SADF at that point. Not exactly wanted, but known. A man had killed a friend of mine, a teenaged prostitute named Johani. I hunted him down and killed him. They suspected I was involved in some way, or at least knew something about it, but they couldn’t pin anything on me and they had to let me go.”

Jack nearly chokes on his water, astonished by this horrifying detail of the man’s past, as well as the matter-of-fact way he has revealed it. Shearwater sees this and smiles again.

“I’m not ashamed of my past, Commander. But I suppose I could’ve worked up to it in a smoother way.”

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. I’ve just never heard anything like this before. How do you mean hunted him down and killed him?”

“He was one of her regulars, so he wasn’t hard to find. I followed him and watched him, and waited for my opportunity. One night I hid behind the bar he was in, and when he came stumbling drunk down the alley, I sneaked up on him and stabbed him. I took his wallet and watch and gun, to make it look like a robbery. I kept the money and threw everything else into the river, then I took off and laid low in that abandoned apartment building where the Boss found me.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jack says. “You did all that at sixteen?”

“I did. I’m not proud of it. But I don’t regret it, either. I saw it as justice. Lucky for me, Colonel Lawrence agreed. He took me home to the States and got me tutors to get me through my high-school education. Then he sent me to college and medical school, provided I’d sign on to work for him as a combat medic when I was finished.”

“But how? You were a minor. And a foreign national.”

“You don’t spend as many years in the CIA as the Colonel has without knowing how to fake an identity. Officially, I was his eighteen-year-old nephew from Wyoming, and I had the background cover to prove it to anyone who was inclined to check.”

“That is…the most bizarre story I’ve ever heard,” Jack says, too astounded to be polite. He sits back in his chair, gazing at the pleasant, youthful face of the man sitting across from him.

“This is the short version, Commander,” Shearwater replies, with a twinkle in his grey eyes. “You haven’t heard the half of it.”

“Well, he’ll have to hear it later,” Lydia interjects. “Our lunch hour is up and we’d better get back to work. Jacky, you didn’t even touch your food. I’ll get that waitress to box it up for you.”

 

Jack deposits his neglected pastrami sandwich and fries in the lounge refrigerator. He returns to his office to find Gabe waiting for him. He’s practically bursting to relate the strange tale he has heard, but Gabe’s manner stops him cold. His face is pale and grim, as if something has gone dreadfully wrong.

He looks up at Jack and smiles weakly. “Hey, baby. You have a good lunch?”

“Gabe, what is it?” Jack says, laying a hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head and rubs his hands together in an agitated fashion. “Can we…can we go home, Jack? I need to talk to you.”

 


	35. Time

Commander Morrison sits calmly across from Dr. Ziegler, who is speaking to him from behind her desk. To an untrained observer, it would appear that the Commander is listening to some mundane discourse, possibly about a mission or the general health of the staff. To her keen eye, however, the signs of imminent danger are readily apparent. The subtle tension in his shoulders. The set of his jaw. The foreboding glint in his deep blue eyes. She is not afraid of him, but she dislikes unpleasant emotional displays, and suspects that one is coming.

“A fair amount of time,” the Commander says evenly, repeating what she has just said to him. “How much time, precisely?”

“I do not know, precisely,” she replies. “Possibly years. His system has resisted them with astonishing efficiency so far. He has no symptoms of deterioration at all.”

“What happens if his system stops resisting them so efficiently?”

“He will develop similar symptoms to those that were apparent in the infected at Niefang.”

“Will it kill him?”

“If his body cannot fight the infection, and we have not developed a solution, then yes. He will eventually succumb to the disease.”

“I see. And you are confident that you can develop a solution?”

“I believe that I can, but I have never treated something like this.”

“How is it different from the cases we treated at Niefang?”

“Agent Reyes is different. The nanite drones that were introduced to the villagers were engineered to attack human biological systems. Had he been infected with those, they would have died and been flushed harmlessly from his body. These, however, are far more complex and resilient. More like to the sister-queens we found in Okomo’s blood. Only…they are not behaving as is usual.”

“How so.”

“They are producing no drones. Instead, they are producing only other sister-queens. But the new generation appears to be very slightly different to the originals. I believe this is an adaptation to his augmented genetic information. I have never seen anything like it.”

His lip curls with disgust as he thinks he detects a hint of eager scientific curiosity in her statement. He lets it pass. “Producing how? How are a bunch of females reproducing on their own.”

“No, Commander, you misunderstand. They are only metaphorically female. They mimic biology in many ways, but they are machines and do not reproduce sexually. They extract carbon from the body’s cells and self-replicate.”

“I think, doctor,” the Commander says icily, “that now is the time for you to tell me the truth.”

“In what regard, Commander?” she replies, appearing as tranquil as she can.

“You have not been entirely forthcoming regarding your knowledge of these nanites. I would like you to tell me the whole story.

She hesitates for a moment.

“Right now,” he says. The look in his eye warns her that denial or even obfuscation would be unwise at this point.

“I have seen these things before,” she says. “Long before we went to Niefang. I was…partially responsible for their creation.”

His blue eyes spark. “You were responsible for creating them. These machines that killed so many innocent people...that are killing—”

“Commander,” she says, cutting him off. “Please listen to me before you make a rash judgement. I was partially responsible. The nanites were created by myself and two other scientists. A biomechanics specialist from Lausanne, and a bioengineering specialist from India. They were not like the ones responsible for the sickness. They were intended to be used to treat incurable diseases, rapidly deliver therapeutic drugs to targeted areas of the body, and to aid in cell regeneration. Some governments began to take an interest in our work. We were offered funding by several of the wealthiest. Then we found that the nanites had other, even more powerful implications than disease treatment. They were uniquely predisposed to more…pernicious uses.

When I saw that their potential for use as terrible weapons far outweighed their potential benefits as treatment devices, I discontinued my involvement in the research. It was my understanding that the others did the same, and that the program was shut down. Apparently I was misled. When I heard of the outbreak in Niefang, and the symptoms and behavior of the disease, I suspected the cause. That is why your team was sent to intervene. So that I could confirm my suspicions and treat the infection, if necessary.”

“You allowed us to enter that village knowing that we could all be infected by your little plague?”

“Of course not,” she snaps, growing heated in turn. “I would never have placed others at risk that way. If I thought for a moment there was any danger to your team, I would have gone alone, and not allowed you to be exposed. They are not communicable, Commander. What happened to Agent Reyes is unexplainable by any of the knowledge and experience I have of these things. Even the ones in his blood now are unable to leave his body to infect anyone else. I still do not understand how they managed to transfer hosts in his specific case. It is...it should be…impossible.”

“You can see that it is not impossible, Dr. Ziegler. Agent Reyes is dying. He is—” the Commander breaks off, unable to speak any longer. He leans forward and rests his forehead in his hands.

“Commander, I never intended for my work to be used to harm people.” Her face softens slightly as she looks at him. Her chest constricts with sudden, unexpected sympathy for the anguish of this young man. “But he is not dying yet. I am going to save him. I swear to you that I will save him. I am…I am sorry. For all of this.”

He sits silent for a moment, then he rises abruptly. “Your apologies are no use to me, Dr. Ziegler. Find a cure and find it quickly. Because I will hold you personally accountable for every moment he suffers until you do.”

Before she has a chance to make any response, he turns and strides out of her office, slamming the door behind him with a sharp bang. The doctor sits staring at the door for a moment, as if she is not certain he has actually gone. Then she does something she cannot recall having done in many years. She lays her head down on her desk and weeps.

Commander Morrison is not yet finished with today’s ordeal. He goes directly from his meeting with the doctor to another, this one with the Colonel and Commander Andreev. The look of earnest compassion on the Colonel’s face causes him physical pain. He avoids the Colonel’s eye, finding it more comfortable to keep his focus on Andreev, whose angular, austere features betray no emotion whatsoever.

They are talking about danger of transmission. This is not an issue. The infection is not transmissible, so there is no risk to others. The agent’s workload. What of it? He is not sick. He is in perfect health. There will be no immediate effect upon his mission-readiness. No, there is no reason to inform the team at this time. He won’t want to be treated like a sympathy case. The psychological impact. Stress. Nothing he can’t handle. Perhaps a short vacation would be in order, whatever the case. How long? However long you need. Take him somewhere and relax. Get your minds off work. We can handle things here for a while.

The Commander rises to go. Colonel Lawrence stops him with a word. “Jack, Angie will fix this thing. I know she will. I have complete faith in her abilities.”

“Yes, sir,” Commander Morrison says. He nods to the two older gentlemen and departs.

“Well,” the Colonel says, after the door shuts behind Jack. “I guess you know what’s next, Aleksei.”

“Unless they’re already in hell, I’ll have them in custody within seventy-two hours.”

“Take someone with you. In case things get touchy.”

“Shearwater,” Andreev says, rising from his seat. “I’d rather not have the team exposed to whatever we have to do to extract them. Not yet.”

“Fair enough. Let me know when you’ve got ‘em.”

 

Commander Morrison walks home alone. As he crosses the park, his tightly set jaw and squared shoulders begin to loosen. As he passes down the neatly manicured street, his brisk, businesslike stride slackens to a laborious trudge. Jack opens the door quietly and steps across the threshold of his house. All the lights are off, but the sun is just setting, and his keen eyes easily parse the gloom inside. He rounds the corner from the living room and finds Gabe seated at the breakfast table. He’s slumped back in a chair smoking a cigarette. There is an empty Don Julio bottle on the table before him, and a mostly full one in his hand. He looks up blearily as Jack enters.

“Hey cariño,” he says, jumbling his words together sloppily. “Do you know how fucking—how much fucking tequila it takes me to get drunk now?”

“A bottle?” Jack takes the cigarette from Gabe’s hand and draws on it. He exhales a long, white plume of smoke into the air above his head.

“It’s fucking ridiculous,” Gabe says. “Even I won’t be able to afford it for too long.”

Jack sighs and drops heavily into the chair nearest Gabe. “Give me that.”

Gabe extends the full bottle to him and uses the opportunity to snatch his cigarette back. “You don’t even fucking smoke, Boyscout.”

“Maybe I’ll start.” Jack takes a swig of the tequila from the bottle and sets it back in front of Gabe.

Gabe rests his hand on it, but doesn’t pick it up. He finishes his cigarette and drops the butt into the empty bottle. A thin wisp of smoke trails up out of its mouth and dissipates into the air. They sit in silence for a while, staring into the rapidly gathering shadows.

“Gabe.”

“Hm?”

“You’re not going to die.”

Gabe doesn’t even look at him. He just sits there wearing that sardonic smirk, the way he used to do back when they first met.

“Well,” he says with a shrug. “Fuck it.”

He puts the bottle to his lips and takes another deep draught. Jack is on his feet like a flash. He yanks the bottle out of Gabe’s hand and sends it hurtling across the room. It explodes into fragments against a kitchen cabinet. Gabe turns his head sluggishly to see where it has gone, but Jack is on him. Before he knows what is happening, he is on his back on the floor. Jack has him pinned and his eyes are alight with blue fire.

“Fuck it?” he shouts hoarsely. “Fuck it, Gabe? Fuck you! You don’t get to pretend you don’t care if you live or die. You don’t get to do that with me. Not with me, Gabriel.”

Gabe answers with a hollow, mirthless laugh. A cold, dead sound in the back of his throat. Jack throws his arm back and strikes him full in the face with a closed fist. Gabe barely feels it. He turns his head and spits blood onto the floor.

He laughs again. “Good. Hit me, Jack.”

Jack grabs the lapels of his shirt and drags him up to a sitting position. “You are not going to die, you hear me? You will not die. I will not let you.”

“You can’t do that,” Gabe slurs, swaying his head side to side. “You can’t make—make me not die.”

Jack holds him steady and gazes at him in dismay. The fire begins to fade from his eyes.

“Gabriel,” he says pleadingly. “Gabriel, look at me.”

Gabe lifts his head, wobbling and blinking as he attempts to focus on Jack’s face.

“I love you,” Jack says. “I love you and that means you have to hang on. You have to want to live, because—because…” his voice chokes in his throat. He lets go of Gabe’s shirt and sits hard on the floor. “Gabe, don’t you love me?”

“Oh, baby,” Gabe says, grasping clumsily at the sleeve of Jack’s coat. “Of course I love you. I’m just all fucked—fucked up, you know? It’s all so…fucked up. I love you so much baby don’t cry. I’m so sorry.”

Gabe gets a hold of him at last and pulls him into a crushing embrace.

“I—I’m sorry I hit you,” Jack says through a sob.

“Nah, don’t be. I kind of had it coming.”

“You did,” Jack says, burying his face in the crook Gabe’s neck. “Don’t be such a fucking asshole, ok? I can’t—I can’t be strong for both of us all the time.”

Gabe holds his weeping darling in his arms on their dining room floor. The effects of the positively lethal quantity of liquor he has consumed are already beginning to wear off. He can feel his jaw throbbing where Jack’s fist struck it. His dear, sweet, gentle Jack. Who also happens to have a wicked right hook. He strokes the heavy blonde head lying on is shoulder, breathing in Jack’s warm, masculine scent. He feels a deep pang of remorse for his callous selfishness. What is death to him? Jack will be the one who suffers. He looks down into Jack’s face, and those beautiful, tear-stained blue eyes pierce him to the heart. He takes sudden hold of him and kisses him over and over, wetting Jack’s cheeks with his tears.

“I’m so sorry, Jack. Please forgive me.”

“Forgive you,” Jack breathes, between his lover’s urgent kisses. “Of course I do. I love you.”

“I love you,” Gabe says. “I love you so much.” He lifts Jack’s face in both hands and looks searchingly into his eyes. “Jack…marry me.”

 


	36. Homesickness

“Reyes,” a voice calls out. “Where the fuck have you been?”

Gabe and Jack turn to see three men entering.

One of them jostles the first. “You know he can’t tell us, dumbass. Reyes, what’s up man! How’ve you been?”

“Surviving,” Gabe says, smiling and shaking their hands warmly. “Good to see you Pope, Garza. Hey Beauchamp. Glad you guys could make it.”

“We just came for the food,” Garza grins. “Lanier’s cooking, right?”

“God damn right I’m cookin’,” the towering man booms from the kitchen. “One of y’all get in here and help me carry these trays out back.”

“Quarter, daddy!” a little voice pipes from behind Gabe’s chair.

“Aw shoot,” Lanier says, coming to the doorway between the kitchen and dining room. He pats the pockets of his red apron. “I don’t have one on me, baby. How ‘bout you get Pope to pay you this time. He owes you for that f-bomb anyway.”

The curly-headed little girl marches up to the burly Army sergeant and sticks out her hand expectantly. He pulls out his wallet.

“I don’t have any change, Gabby. What do you say I pay you in advance for a few more.” He extends a five-dollar bill to the diminutive collector.

“Ok,” she says eyeing him suspiciously. “But I’ll be counting.” She snatches the proffered bill and runs off to deposit it in her piggy bank.

“You guys better watch your mouths,” Pope warns the other men. “Gabby’s bleeding me dry. You must be Commander Morrison,” he says, shaking Jack’s hand. “Good to meet you, sir.”

“Just Jack, please,” Jack says, as they all greet him. “I’m not a Marine anymore.”

The men make their way out to the backyard, where Lanier’s wife Colette is stoking the charcoals in a large grill. Jack doesn’t have much to contribute to the conversation about old times, so he stands holding a beer and smiling politely. He turns his focus inward, devoting his attention to a logistical problem he has been attempting to work out for a while. He doesn’t notice the conversation has shifted till he hears someone addressing him.

“So, Jack,” Garza is saying. “You’re Reyes’ boss, huh?”

“Not exactly. He’s sort of…my counterpart,” Jack says. “We have a boss we all report to.”

“He’s being modest,” Gabe says. “When we’re in the field, we have to call him Commander and everything.”

“How about when you’re at home?” Pope asks, with an impish grin.

“At home, he’s absolutely _required_ to call me Commander,” Jack says, returning the grin.

The men laugh and Beauchamp claps Jack on the shoulder. “Good. It’s about time someone put a leash on him. When you gonna make an honest man of our boy, Commander?”

Jack tries not to blush and fails miserably, which elicits an even bigger laugh from Gabe’s old friends.

“I, uh—I didn’t know you all knew,” He says, smiling sheepishly.

“Are you kidding? Lanier spilled the beans two weeks ago,” Pope laughs. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Jack says, turning even redder. “I…think I need another beer.”

Jack is fishing a bottle of beer from the ice in the cooler, when he feels a tug at the leg of his jeans. He looks down. Gabby’s gigantic brown eyes stare back up at him.

“Hey Gabby,” Jack says. “What’s up?”

“Are you really going to marry uncle Gabe?” she asks gravely.

“Well…I was planning on it, yeah. Why do you ask?”

“My friend Leticia says boys can’t marry other boys.”

“That used to be true,” Jack says. “But then they changed the laws, so now boys can marry boys and girls can marry girls if they want.”

“Why was the laws like that?” she asks.

“Because the people that made them were a bunch of old bigots,” Colette says, approaching with Gabby’s plate. She turns her hospitable smile on Jack. “Hey, Jack, food’s ready.”

“Piglets?” Gabby says dubiously. She puts her little hands on her hips. “Piglets can’t make laws.”

Jack stifles a chuckle.

“Bigots, honey,” her mother says. “Come sit down.”

“What’s bigots?” she asks, taking a seat at the patio table where her mother has set her plate.

“Bigots are people who think that people who are different from them are bad, and don’t deserve to have the same rights as they do. You wait a minute on those ribs Gabrielle, I’m going to grab you some napkins.”

“That’s stupid,” Gabby says to Jack, through a bite of her corn on the cob. “Everyone knows being different doesn’t make you bad.”

“You’re right,” Jack says, sitting across from her. “How’d you get to be so smart, Gabby?”

“My mama,” Gabby replies matter-of-factly. “Daddy says she’s the smartest lady in the whole world.”

“She sure is.”

Gabby munches her corn thoughtfully, swinging her bare feet under the table. “If you marry my uncle Gabe, will you be my uncle Jack?”

“I guess so. If that’s ok with you.”

After a moment’s consideration, she says, “It’s ok with me. But…” she hesitates, looking doubtfully at the tall, muscular man. “Aren’t you gonna look weird in a wedding dress?”

Jack nearly spits out his beer laughing. “I don’t think—I don’t think I’ll wear a dress, Gabby.”

“What do you mean no dress?” Gabe says, setting down two full plates. “Traditions have to be respected, Jack.”

“Nuh uh, uncle Gabe!” Gabby says, suddenly full of zeal to defend the honor of her prospective uncle. “You can’t make him!”

“Oh yeah, mija? Who says?”

“Me!” She jumps to her feet on the chair and almost immediately goes tumbling backward. Gabe catches her and holds her aloft.

“You gonna back that up? I think you’re all talk!”

“Noooo! Help!” she cries out in mock distress. “Uncle Jack, save me!”

“There’s nothing I can do,” Jack says, lifting his hands helplessly. “He’s got you now.”

Gabe wraps his big arms around his tiny captive and tickles her till she’s breathless with giggles.

“Alright, you three troublemakers,” Collette’s sweet, husky voice calls out from beside the grill. “Gabby, you better eat before your food gets cold. Jack, can I get you another beer?”

“No, thanks Colette,” Jack smiles.

She comes over to assist Gabby with the unwieldy rack of short ribs she is smearing all over her shirt. When Gabby has had enough of the ribs and is sufficiently covered in sauce, Gabe takes her away to wash her hands and face.

“Thank you again for having us, Colette,” Jack says. “This is really lovely.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble. I’m glad to finally meet you. Jeremiah has been talking about both of you since Gabe called.”

“All good, I hope.”

“Mostly bragging about setting you two up. Says he knew you were meant for each other all along.”

“Oh did he?” Jack laughs. “You know, I do remember him saying something about that to me.”

“Well, he’s been taking credit for the whole thing. How do you like Virginia?”

“It’s alright. It’s pretty. We’re so busy, we don’t get to see much of it outside our own house, though.”

“So I hear. Jeremiah tells me you have even more demanding schedules than you did when you were with the regular military. Though I can’t imagine how that’s possible.”

“I’m not sure it’s more demanding, but it’s more…unpredictable. We don’t have much in the way of regular duties, but we have to be ready to work on whatever comes along at a moment’s notice. Plus, when we are on an assignment, it’s twenty-four hours a day till we’re finished. Sometimes that’s days, sometimes it’s weeks.”

“I don’t think I’d like it if my husband had to suddenly go away for weeks at a time,” she says, casting an affectionate gaze across the yard at Lanier. “It must be nice that you two don’t have to spend that time apart.”

“It is. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

“Jeremiah seems to think it’s Gabe that needs you. Says you’re good for him.”

“I hope so,” Jack says with a sigh. “I hope so.”

“You really love him, don’t you,” Collette says, smiling softly.

“I really do.”

“I’m glad. We couldn’t let Gabby’s favorite uncle marry just anyone.” She squeezes his hand. “You take care of him for us, ok?”

“I will,” Jack says, returning the pressure. “Thanks, Colette.”

The lively little dinner party continues late into the evening. Jack goes with the general flow, content to fade into the background and allow Gabe to catch up with his old Army buddies. He does his best to enjoy the warm conviviality of the Lanier household, but he finds he can’t ignore an increasingly heavy feeling of homesickness for his own family back in Iowa. He hasn’t seen them in three years. Phineas will be walking and talking now. Gabby comes to give him a kiss goodnight before she’s trundled reluctantly off to bed. Jack almost tears up when her little arms catch him about the neck and she whispers, “Goodnight, uncle Jack, I love you,” into his ear.

When they return to their hotel that night, he mentions his homesickness to Gabe.

“Let’s go see them when we leave here,” Gabe says, with his toothbrush in his mouth. “It’s a pretty quick flight. I bet we can commandeer an Apache to take us.”

Jack gives a theatrical sigh and flops down onto the bed. “It’s finally happened. You’ve gone mad with power.”

“You know it, cariño,” Gabe grins. He returns his toothbrush to the case. “Now get over here and suck my cock, or—”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll make you,” he says, standing menacingly over Jack.

Jack sits up, raising a defiant eyebrow. “Try it.”

Gabe takes him by the throat and pushes him back down. Jack shudders and sighs, liquefying under his rough touch. Gabe strips him to the skin and then rises to remove his own clothing. Jack gazes admiringly at Gabe’s body as he undresses. Hard and utilitarian, scarred all over like some ancient warrior. His cock is fully erect and magnificently exhibited on that dangerous physique.

“You’re so beautiful, Gabe,” Jack says. “I never tell you that, but you are.”

Gabe grins wickedly. “You’re just buttering me up so I’ll go easy on you.”

“You’d better not,” Jack returns. “Come fuck me. I want you right now.”

“Get over here,” Gabe says, bending down slowly and picking up his belt from the floor. “On your knees.”

Jack obeys. Gabe slides the belt around his neck, pulling the end through the buckle and holding it like a leash. Jack’s head reels with ecstasy. Gabe pulls the belt tight around Jack’s neck and pushes his cock into his open mouth. Jack grasps Gabe’s thighs to steady himself. Gabe yanks his cock out of Jack’s mouth and slaps him across the face with the back of his hand.

“Don’t touch,” he growls.

Jack’s arms fall at his sides. His cock drools. It’s so hard it aches and feels hot, like it’s going to burst. Gabe grabs his hair with one hand and fucks his mouth, pulling the belt tighter and tighter with the other. His vision goes black and he feels himself falling backward. But he’s not falling backward. He’s bent over the bed, and Gabe is fucking him. He barely has time to wonder how many seconds or minutes he lost. His muscles are constricting on Gabe’s hard cock.

“Gabe—fuck, I’m gonna come,” he sputters.

Gabe stops. “You may not come until I give you permission.”

Jack struggles to push himself back onto Gabe’s cock, but Gabe restrains him.

“Beg me,” he purrs.

“Please, please fuck me. Please let me come.”

Gabe penetrates him gradually, deliberately, tantalizing Jack almost to madness with the slow, rough slide of his cock. He holds it still, deep inside. Jack writhes and groans.

“Beg me,” Gabe repeats.

“Please—fuck! Please,” Jack begs, almost whining. “Fuck me!”

Gabe digs his fingernails into Jack’s sides and thrusts savagely. Jack can feel blood running down his ribcage. The sensation drives him over the edge, wrenching his ejaculation from him before he can do anything to stop it. His cock throbs and spasms, spewing hot streams onto the bed.

Gabe tosses him onto his back. “What did I say?”

“I—”

Gabe cuffs him on the mouth. “You came without permission.”

Jack’s eyes kindle. He pushes himself up level with Gabe and looks him fiercely in the eye. “Harder.”

Gabe hits him again. Jack laughs.

“Harder!”

Gabe draws his hand back and strikes Jack so hard it knocks him backward into the headboard. He shoves Jack’s legs apart and enters him abruptly, snarling like a jungle cat, fucking him like he’s trying to kill them both. Jack’s cock is ruddy and swollen in his hand. He strokes it feverishly as Gabe thrusts into him. He moans and begins to shake all over. He’s going to come again.

“Come for me, Jack,” Gabe says breathlessly, “come now.”

Jack sinks his teeth into Gabe’s shoulder. He tastes Gabe’s blood in his mouth as he comes violently all over their stomachs. Gabe is coming, too, quaking and convulsing inside Jack, filling him up with his forceful ejaculation. Gabe tumbles onto his back and they lie there catching their breath. He laughs giddily.

“What?” Jack asks.

“I think I like fucking you more every time we do it.”

“You’re not tired of your boring old ball and chain yet?” Jack says, stroking the curly hairs on Gabe’s chest with his fingertips.

“Never.”

“Good, because I think you’d probably kill any other man.”

“Well. I know you can take it.”

“If not, I’d die happy.” Jack chuckles. “I wonder how Lydia handles Shearwater. I hope she doesn’t hurt him too much.”

“Wait, what?” Gabe says. “Hang on, Lydia and Shearwater are…what?”

“Yeah. I went to lunch with them a couple weeks ago. I thought you knew about it.”

“Not a clue! I thought she was gay!”

“You think everyone’s gay.”

“Oh, Poor Min-Ji.”

“Wait, Min-Ji? She’s into…which one?”

“Lydia, ass. Min-Ji _is_ gay. She told me she was into Lydia back when we were in Africa. She also said Miller asked Lydia out and got rejected, come to think of it.”

“Well, fuck. What about Temple? Is he trying to bang Lydia too?”

“I don’t know anything about Temple. He plays pretty close to the vest. So, about Shearwater…he isn’t like us, then?”

“I don’t think so. There’s nothing in his file and no one has said anything to suggest that he is.”

“Hm. I wonder what his deal is.”

“Shit. I never told you that either,” Jack says, laughing. “He told me all about himself at that lunch.”

Jack gives a brief account of Shearwater’s tale to a frankly astonished Gabe.

“Who the fuck would’ve known. I’d have put my money on him being a middle-American farm kid like you.”

“Me too,” Jack says. “Speaking of farms, do you really want to go see mom and Molly and Joe when we’re done visiting the Laniers?”

“Of course. I don’t think the Army will actually let us take an Apache, though, so let’s see about booking flights.”

“And you’re…feeling up to it? All the traveling and everything?”

“Jack, come on,” Gabe says, a pained expression tightening his rugged features. “We talked about this. Please don’t do that. I’m not sick. Not yet. Don’t treat me like I am.”

“I’m sorry, Gabe. I just—I can’t ever not be thinking about it, you know?”

“I know.”

 


	37. Dr. Kaspar Voss

Dr. Kaspar Voss walks briskly down the hospital’s main hallway, immaculate white coat rustling, heels clicking crisply on the institutional tile floor. The automatic doors swish open and a desk nurse bids him goodnight as he exits the building. Though it is only six in the evening, the parking lot is nearly empty. Most of the institute’s staff do not come in on Sundays. As he fishes his keys from his pocket, he thinks he hears the scrape of a footstep behind him. He tenses and peers about, pushing up his wire-rimmed spectacles as if to get a better look into the early evening shadows. Nothing. He turns back to his charcoal-grey Mercedes sedan and produces his key fob. He has just pressed the unlock button, when a voice behind him startles him nearly out of his skin. His keys fall to the ground with a metallic clink.

“Guten Abend, Herr Doktor,” the voice says. It is a pleasant, youthful, male voice. “Wie geht es ihnen?”

The doctor turns an ill-disposed eye on the speaker, an athletically built young man with neatly-trimmed black hair and a handsome, if somewhat insolent face.

“Your accent is revolting,” the doctor replies in English, pronouncing the words with a terse, Swiss-German inflection. He spreads his arms, palms upward. “Finally come to kill me, Alpha? Well. Do it then.”

“As ek jou wou doodmaak, sou jy al dood gewees het.” The young man has switched to Afrikaans apparently in order to irritate the old doctor. It seems to have the intended effect. 

“I see you are as charming as ever,” the doctor sneers. “What do you want, Alpha. Why are you here at my hospital.”

“Hospital? Is that what you’re calling your little butcher’s shop,” the young man says. “How is business, by the way, Kaspar? Still selling your toys to genocidal maniacs?”

“You tell me,” the doctor rejoins. “Are you still working for one?”

“He wants to have a word with you.”

“Then he should have come himself.”

“Don’t make this difficult, Kaspar.”

The old man snorts derisively and bends down to pick up his car keys. Within a fraction of a second, he is being held a foot above the ground by the throat, feet kicking in the air.

“We—we had an un—derstanding—” the doctor chokes, clawing impotently at the young man’s arm.

“It appears that you misunderstood,” the young man replies.

He loosens his grip. The doctor tumbles to the pavement, gasping and clutching the collar of his shirt. His assailant flashes a wicked grin that lights up his grey eyes and displays a row of perfect white teeth.

“Come, Kaspar. Compose yourself. We have a long way to go.”

“Stop using—my fucking first name, you fucking—wind-up toy,” the doctor sputters, still holding his throat.

The young man’s smile dissolves and his large grey eyes harden. With a flick of his wrist, too quick to see, he knocks the doctor’s head soundly against the door of his grey Mercedes with a hollow thud.

“Ah! Gottverdammt!” the doctor howls in pain. “Stop! I will come! I will come quietly. Stop.”

The young man extends his hand to help the doctor to his feet. The doctor slaps it away and struggles up, supporting himself on his vehicle.

“Tell me at least,” he pants, taking off his spectacles to wipe the perspiration from his face. “What is all of this about, Alpha?”

“My name,” the young man says, “is Noah.”

 

 

“We keep telling her we’ll move in so she won’t be lonely,” Molly says in an undertone. “But she insists she’s not. And don’t bother suggesting that she might need help. She’s as stubborn as ever and twice as independent.”

“That’s good to hear,” Jack smiles. “I hate to think of her here all alone, though.”

They are sitting together in the living room of the Morrison family house. Jack’s mother is in the kitchen, filling the place with the savory aromas of whatever home-cooked delicacy she is preparing for tonight’s enjoyment. Gabe is holding Phineas and discoursing with Joe on the correct way to mix a martini, while Phineas stares at him in rapt, silent awe and prods his face with his chubby finger.

“She says Churchill and Roosevelt are all the company she needs,” Molly replies. “Plus, she’s got those old cats from her book club here once a week for cocktails and literary talk. Though I think they do a lot more drinking than reading.”

Jack laughs aloud. “That’s pretty adorable, actually. I like the idea of mom cutting loose and having fun.”

“Hey, Jack, there is one other thing,” Molly says, suddenly looking very somber.

“What is it, Moll?”

“It’s Ashley Reid. Her…her husband committed suicide. Six months ago.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Jack breathes. “Poor Ashley.”

“Yeah. Like. She sucked. But no one deserves that.”

“Is she ok? I mean…she pretty much has no one.”

“That’s what I wanted to tell you. Mom’s been kind of…helping her through it.”

“How did that happen?” Jack asks, genuinely surprised.

“First of all, we heard about it the worst possible way. It was on the morning news. Some kids broke into the construction site to smoke weed or something and found him hanging there. As soon as the segment ended, mom goes in the kitchen and starts making a casserole. I was like, ‘Hey grandma, we just ate breakfast. You getting senile?’ And she looks at me all teary eyed and says, ‘Molly, those children are going to need a hot meal and we’re going to bring it to them.’

So we did. That afternoon, we took our casserole and a bunch of brownies and cookies and knocked on her door. Ashley opened it, and mom just grabbed her and hugged her and Ashley stood there sobbing on her like she was going to die. So I went in and started heating up the food and talking to the kids. Ashley laid on the couch and cried while mom and I made dinner and cleaned the place up a little. She was too much of a wreck even to think of anything mean to say to me. We ended up staying for a few hours playing with the kids and reading them stories. After I put them to bed, mom was doing the dishes and I had no choice but to sit in the living room with Ashley.

After a while I hear this weak little, ‘Molly?’ from the couch. I said, ‘Yes, Ashley?’ She started sobbing again and she said, ‘I don’t understand why you guys are being so nice to me. I don’t deserve it. I’m the worst person in the world.’ I said no she wasn’t and that all that nonsense was way behind us. I told her, ‘Look, it doesn’t matter who spray-painted ‘dyke’ on whose lawn, or who slashed whose tires at the lake. We have to be there for each other when shit gets real.’ She kind of laughed through her Kleenex and she said, ‘I fucking knew that was you!’ Then things were actually pretty ok. I think she apologized about a hundred times for that dyke thing. She even hugged me. It was…weird.”

“Holy shit,” Jack says. “That’s…wow. Yeah, that sounds weird. How is she doing now?”

“Well, it’s not like the personality fairy descended on her and magically made her perfect. But I think she’s honestly trying to be a better person. She’s seeing a therapist twice a week and mom and I take the kids when she goes. She’ll be stopping by tomorrow at two to drop them off and then picking them up later. I thought I’d warn you in advance so you and Gabe can ninja vanish before she gets here.”

“Why are we ninja vanishing?” Gabe asks, approaching and handing Jack a drink.

“My, uh…my ex, Ashley, is going to be here to drop her kids off tomorrow.”

“The one from the park? Who called your mom and…that one?”

“That’s the one. Her husband killed himself. Molly and mom have been helping her out.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. You can make yourself scarce when she comes by, but I don’t think me hiding from her would be the right thing to do. I should at least say hello.”

“Are you going to say it nice?” Molly asks with mock sternness.

“Of course I will,” Jack says. “She was shitty to me, but her life has been severely fucked up. I’m not that petty.”

“Good,” Molly says, roughing up her brother’s blonde hair as though he’s still a rowdy ten-year-old. “I knew you’d be good.”

“Jackie, honey,” Jack’s mother calls from the kitchen. “You and your sister should set the table now. Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Sure thing, mom,” Jack calls back. “But I don’t need any help.”

He hops up and disappears into the kitchen. Gabe takes his seat by Molly on the couch.

Molly eyes him cagily. “Listen, future little bro, you better treat my Jack right. Once you’re married, I’ll have all the according big-sister privileges and I’ll come knock you upside the head if you’re not nice to him.”

“Nice to him!” Gabe laughs. “I’m always nice to him. And what the fuck do you mean big sister? I’m older than you, young lady! If anything, I’m the big brother.”

“Nah, don’t you try to pull rank on me, Agent Reyes. You’re marrying my little brother, so I get to be big sister. Age has nothing to do with it.”

“Oh, is that how it works?”

“Them’s the sister rules, bucko. You’re just lucky I don’t make you clean my room. I could.”

“Alright, alright,” Gabe says. “You can be big sister. But I get to borrow all your cool records and not return them.”

“Deal,” Molly says, shaking Gabe’s hand. “Joke’s on you, sucker! I’ve never owned a cool record in my life.”

They sip their drinks in comfortable silence for a little while, listening to Jack and his mother chatting with Joe in the kitchen. Gabe notices that Molly is regarding him with an uncharacteristically serious eye.

“What’s up? Everything ok?” he says, a bit more uneasily than he’d like.

“Come have a cigarette with me,” she says.

Churchill and Roosevelt, with their keen sense for when outside time is impending, precede Gabe and Molly downstairs and burst out the basement door, eager to romp in the expansive backyard. Gabe lights a cigarette for Molly, then himself. They stand smoking and watching the dogs for a moment.

Molly looks up earnestly into Gabe’s face. “Are you and Jack really alright?”

“Of course we’re alright,” Gabe says, with a sardonic grin. “Why? You already trying to get rid of me?”

“Gabe…I’ve known Jack his whole life. He may be good at hiding his emotions from other people, but not from me. And you’re totally shit at hiding yours. There’s something wrong, isn’t there.”

Gabe’s brow knits and he looks away. Fuck. He can feel it happening. His layers of self-protective denial beginning to falter and fail. He didn’t even tell Lanier, his closest and oldest friend. He had no trouble being strong around him. But Molly. He had instinctively turned to her when Jack had cut him off so abruptly three years ago, when his life had seemed black and hopeless. Something about her earthy, tenacious compassion makes him weak. She is like someone. Someone he has tried hard to forget. Like Isabella. He makes a last, desperate grasp at self-control, but the thought of his sister has knocked the fight out of him. He breaks down at last.

“I’m sick,” he blurts out. “I’m sick and I’m probably going to die.”

Molly stares at him, dumbstruck.

“It’s not transmissible or anything,” he continues. “Don’t worry about Jack. I picked up a kind of…rare blood parasite on a mission. They don’t know how to cure it.”

“How…how long?”

“They don’t know. Maybe years.”

“Gabe. Oh my god. Oh my fucking god,” Molly says, throwing her arms around him. “I’m so sorry, Gabe. Jesus. I’m so sorry.”

Gabe lays his head on her shoulder, submitting to the forceful sisterly embrace. He can’t cry, but Molly cries for him, and he finds he is grateful for her tears. There is relief in the vicarious outpouring of anguish that he is unable to express for himself. After a while, she draws away, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt.

“How is Jack?” she says. “Is he…how is he?”

Gabe thinks about the broken tequila bottle and Jack’s fist. “He won’t accept it. He won’t…he won’t let me accept it.”

“How do you mean?”

“He insists they’ll cure it. He says the doctor is working on a solution and he believes she’ll find it. He says the Colonel has total faith in her, too.”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t trust her,” Gabe says flatly. “And I don’t like her. I always get the feeling she’s looking at me like a lab rat.”

“Can’t you see someone else? For a second opinion?”

Gabe laughs ruefully. “No. That’s out of the question. Even if I’d be allowed to, no one else in the world could handle this.”

“But…if Jack and the Colonel believe in her abilities, maybe she will be able help you.”

Gabe makes a resigned gesture. “Maybe. Who the fuck knows.”

“Well, you don’t have to like her to let her treat you. Just…please don’t give up hope.” Molly takes his hand in hers and squeezes it tightly as she speaks. He looks up and sees that she’s crying again. “Jack…he couldn’t live without you, Gabe. He needs you so much. He loves you so much.”

Gabe embraces Molly this time, taking her carefully in his formidable arms and letting her weep for her brother’s sorrow. When she is calm, he gently wipes away her tears and brushes the long strands of blonde hair away from her face. She looks so very much like Jack. He smiles.

“Hey now, no more crying, ok? Jack and I don’t want your mom to find out.”

She nods firmly. “I agree. There’s no reason to make her worry like that. But Gabe, I really do believe that you’ll get better. I just know you will. And I’ll…I’ll pray for you. If I can remember how.”

“Thank you, Molly,” Gabe says, smiling down at her again.

But the phrase strikes a bitter chord in his mind. It is the same thing Cebisa had said to him before they left Niefang. The little abuelita who’d told him he would live longer than other men. Much longer, she’d said. So long that she couldn’t see the end of his life in her vision or dream or whatever. He wants to confront her and ask her where her gift of prophecy is now. Or if God simply can’t see the nanomachines that are consuming his body from the inside. He has coughed up blood twice already since they’ve been on this compulsory vacation. Jack doesn’t know about it. No one knows. No one but that icy-veined alchemist they call a doctor.

 


	38. The Pain

“There will be some discomfort,” Dr. Ziegler says evenly. “By discomfort, I mean it will likely be the most painful thing you have ever experienced.”

“Aren’t doctors supposed to soft-pedal it on the pain talk?” Gabe asks gruffly. “I thought that was standard bedside manner.”

“How will that help you? Would you prefer that I lie to you and that you are not prepared for the pain when it comes?”

“No.”

“Good. Because it is going to hurt.”

“Is it going to work?”

The doctor doesn’t answer. Gabe shifts in his bed and cranes his neck to see what she is doing. She is holding a large syringe filled with a bright, golden-yellow liquid, and making notes in a chart. He drops his head back down on the flat, unsupportive pillow and taps his fingers querulously.

“How long will it take?”

“That depends upon how hard the nanites fight it. It could be an hour. It could be longer. I will stay with you, no matter how long it takes.”

“You really don’t have to do that,” he says irritably.

“I really do,” she replies flatly. “You cannot be trusted not to injure yourself or others while your mind and body undergo such profound distress.”

“What makes you think your presence will prevent that? Won’t I be just as likely to injure you?”

She doesn’t look up from her work, but a little smile curls the corners of her lips. “I think I can handle you, Agent Reyes.”

The matter-of-fact assertion sends a chill down Gabe’s spine. What could she possibly mean by it? She knows better than anyone how strong and fast they are. So, how does she intend to handle him? Unless she has some way to incapacitate him. He dislikes this idea and what it implies. He studies her surreptitiously from the corner of his eye, attempting to form some idea of her thought processes.

As if she has read his mind, she says, “Agent Reyes, what exactly do you know about me?”

“I know what you’ve told us and what it says in your personnel file. So, nothing.”

“Very clever,” she replies. “Most of what is recorded in that file is true, with a few…omissions. But what it really tells you about me is just what you have said. Nothing.”

With one swift, smooth motion, she inserts the syringe into a vein in his arm and depresses the plunger. The fluid inside burns like a brand and he jerks his arm back with a curse.

“That was the easy part,” she says. “Let me know when the pain begins.”

She lays her cool, white hand on the injection site. It soothes the burning sensation, and for some reason, has an oddly calming effect on Gabe’s racing mind. He eases back onto the uncomfortable hospital bed and attempts to breathe normally.

“Very good,” the doctor says gently.

She takes away her hand and makes some more notes. Gabe watches her idly for a few minutes, then the muscles in his arm suddenly begin to tense and twitch.

“It’s starting. It’s starting to hurt,” he says. Perspiration breaks out on his forehead. “It feels like my arm is on fire.”

“Try to relax, Gabriel,” she says tranquilly, setting down her pen.

She places her fingers on his wrist to take his pulse. Unnecessarily, since the monitor he is hooked up to is right in front of her, but again, he finds her touch instantly soothing. When she moves to take her hand away, he grasps it feverishly.

“Please,” he pants. “Please don’t…I—ah—fuck. Please. It…it helps.”

She rests her hand lightly on his forearm and watches his face intently. His eyes are becoming vague and unfocused. Beads of sweat are rolling down the sides of his head onto the white pillow case.

“I’m burning,” he says hoarsely. “My head and—and my chest—ah! Fuck. It’s so—fucking hot in here.”

“Sit up a for a moment,” she says.

She unties the top loop of his examination gown and pulls it down around his waist. A cold sweat has broken out all over his body. He lies back down, somewhat relieved, and she places her palm on his bare chest. His heart is pounding like a war drum. He wraps his large hand around her slender wrist.

“Talk—talk to me, doc. I need to—get my mind off it—if I can.”

“Call me Angela,” she says in her low, melodic lilt. “That is my name. My full name is Angela Renate Ziegler. It is Swiss-German. My mother was Swiss and her husband was German. Do you recall their names from my personnel file?”

He blinks and lolls his head from side to side. “Con—Constance? Mathilde? I can’t—ah—remember.”

“You are not far off,” she smiles. “Clothilde was my mother’s name. Clothilde Ruth Ziegler. Before she married, her surname was Schönberg. Her husband’s name was Karl Friederich Ziegler.”

“Why—do you say her husband and not your fa—father?”

“My mother’s husband was not my father. Would you like to know something very peculiar about me, Gabriel?”

“Yes.” He groans as another agonizing spasm racks his body. “Tell—tell me.”

“Well, the peculiar thing about me is that I had no father. No biological father, that is.”

He is able to focus on her face for a moment. He clings to the reassuring solidity of her presence, struggling to gain purchase on the shore before the next wave of pain washes him away.

“How,” he breathes. “How can you have—no father, Angela?”

“My mother was an extraordinarily gifted scientist,” she says. She is holding a cold compress to his forehead. He has no idea where she got it from. “She was far ahead of her time. She developed a method of genetic engineering that we are still attempting to unravel to this day. When I said the technology had progressed since my mother’s time, I was speaking truthfully. However, it has only progressed in the sense that we are coming closer to understanding what she did. We have not yet managed to replicate her work.” She takes the compress away and touches her wrist to his forehead. “Your temperature is continuing to rise. Are you still able to understand me?”

“Yes. I—ah. Your mother was a—gifted scientist. You can’t replicate—her work.”

“Very good. Yes, her work was…lost. She destroyed it, in fact.”

“Why did—why?”

“The government of the country in which she lived at that time was in turmoil. It was on the brink of war. She despised this government and its policies, but her research was her first love and her life’s purpose. For a long time, the government continued to fund her work and did not interfere with her, so she remained as long as she could. But when it became clear to her what this government’s real motives were, and how her work would be misused in their hands, she destroyed all of her research, notes, formulae, samples, everything. Then she burned her laboratory to the ground and fled.”

“What gov—ungh—” Gabe grits his teeth and groans again. “Fuck…fuck!”

“You are doing so well,” she encourages him gently. “Try to breathe.”

The bed beneath him is soaked with sweat. He is unaware of the fact that he is still clutching her wrist in his iron grip, compressing it with a force that should have splintered her bones to fragments by now. He is fading in and out of consciousness and losing his grasp on the passage of time.

“She—she burned her lab,” he says, when he can manage to speak again. “Go on…ah!”

“She burned her laboratory,” Angela continues. “However, she retained one vital part of her work in secret. Before she escaped, she used a perfected specimen of her own modified DNA to fertilize one of her ova, and became pregnant with me. I am the one remaining piece of her research. The one fully-realized example of what her genetic modifications could achieve. My genetic code is the Rosetta stone to deciphering her genius, and I have spent my entire life attempting to do so, with varying degrees of success.”

Gabe’s jaw is clenched and his eyes are squeezed tightly shut. His body racks with tremors of agony. Eventually, the worst appears to have passed. His breathing begins to return to normal and his facial muscles relax.

“You’re—a clone of your mother?” he says, with a feeble, quavering attempt at a smile. “That’s pretty—weird—Angela.”

“I would not call it weird,” she laughs. “I am not exactly a clone, but something very like it. More to the point, I am the model from which your genetic modifications were designed.”

“Mine?” he says blearily, not quite comprehending.

“All of you. The six augmented agents.”

He tries his best to look into her face, but his vision is hazy and distorted. She reaches out one of those cool, silky hands and strokes his brow with her fingertips. He shivers at the touch.

“You are my greatest success, Gabriel,” she says in a soft, almost affectionate murmur.

“I—I am?” he stammers.

“You are. I must confess, I thought it would be Jack who would respond best to the treatment. He is much more genetically similar to me. We even share some particular irregularities of the brain. But you have surpassed him by far, physically and mentally. You have surpassed all of them. You are the closest I have come to achieving perfection.”

“What do you mean? What is…perfection?”

“I am,” she says. “I do not intend this as a compliment to myself. I had nothing to do with it. I am merely the summation of my mother’s life’s work. You did not notice it, but you have been holding quite tightly to my arm. You certainly would have broken it in two, were I not stronger and more resilient than you.” He withdraws his hand self-consciously. She laughs her lovely, musical laugh. “I see that you are already feeling a little better. How is the pain?”

“It’s…it feels like it’s starting to go away.”

“Excellent. Only forty-five minutes.”

He gazes up at her. Her face is coming vaguely into focus. The overhead light behind her head illuminates her mass of pale-blonde curls. This trick of the light and his blurred vision combine briefly to make her appear, for a moment, almost like an angel in a renaissance painting. He chuckles at the thought.

“What is so funny?” she asks.

“An angel,” he says. “Those villagers thought you were an angel. I kind of see it now.”

“They thought you were an angel, too, you know,” she retorts.

“I don’t think they really did. Besides, I’m not the one they built a shrine to.”

“Oh for—that was so humiliating,” she says. She turns her head away quickly, but not so quickly that he misses the hint of rosy color that rises into her cheeks. “I am a doctor, not a miracle worker.”

“Angela.”

“Yes, Gabriel?”

“What government was your mother running from?”

Angela sighs heavily and looks down at him for a long moment. At last she says, “It was called the Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei.”

“The fucking—Angela, are you telling me your mother escaped from the fucking Nazis?”

“Yes.”

Gabe is beside himself. “How can that be true?”

“Gabriel, please at least attempt to use the enhanced mental capacity I gave you,” she says wearily.

“Your genetic code,” he says. “Of course. You’re not aging normally either, then.”

“Correct. I am…a bit older than I appear to be.”

“How much older?”

“I was born in 1941. How are you feeling now?”

“Better. So you’re—”

“Much older than you,” she interrupts. “I am going to take another blood sample now.”

“Uh huh,” he says distractedly. “And you’re stronger and faster, too.”

“And far more intelligent,” she says, grinning slyly. “Can you sit up?”

“I…I think so.” He pushes himself laboriously up onto his elbows, then falls back panting and shaking. “Maybe not.”

“That is alright. Do not overexert yourself. You have been through quite an ordeal. Little pinch.” She inserts the phlebotomy needle and he watches his blood flow into the vial. “All done.”

“I’m cold,” he says, as if he is surprised by the fact. “I was burning up, now I’m freezing.”

“Well, you are soaking wet,” she says, pulling his exam gown back up over his chest. “I will help you get dressed after I take your blood sample to the lab.”

She exits the room with the vial and chart in hand. Gabe lies shivering under his thin gown, musing on the extraordinary things Angela has told him. He wants to know more about her mother’s dramatic escape from Nazi Germany. The bizarre idea of giving birth to a clone of oneself makes him shudder. Then his mind returns to that one phrase. _You are my greatest success, Gabriel._ He is still rolling these words about in his mind when she returns.

“If you can sit up now, I will help you with your clothing,” she says.

She gathers his shirt, jeans, and underwear from the chair and sets them on the bed beside him. Then she takes his hand in hers and supports him as he sits up. He is still weak, and the small effort makes his head spin. She stands patiently, holding him steady as he catches his breath.

“Excellent,” she says cheerfully. “Now see if you can turn your legs this way and sit on the edge of the bed. Good.”

She reaches around him and unties the second loop on the exam gown at the small of his back. She pulls the gown off and tosses it away. He immediately becomes keenly aware that he is naked. Almost as immediately, he feels a flush of embarrassment at the absurdity of his worrying about being seen undressed by a medical professional.

She observes his confusion and smiles. “Don’t worry about it, Gabriel. I am a doctor. You do not have any surprises for me.”

“I know,” he says, grinning sheepishly. “I’m sorry, it’s just that you’re also a…uh, a beautiful woman.”

“Well, thank you,” she says, with another of those musical laughs. “You are a very handsome young man. Come on. Let’s see if you can stand up.”

He puts his hands on her shoulders and she helps him slowly to his feet. He wobbles unsteadily and topples forward into her. He is six-foot-three and his broad, muscular frame weighs well over two-hundred pounds, but she doesn’t sway an inch. She stands firm, supporting the solid weight of his body as easily as if he were a small child.

“Jesus,” he pants. “You really are strong.”

“Exceedingly,” she says. “And you are too weak to stand. Back to bed.”

She all but lifts him bodily into the bed, where he lies dizzy and breathless with the exertion. She goes to a cabinet, from which she takes a heavy, grey blanket. She spreads it over him, tucking it in around his feet like a fussing mother. The situation strikes him as tremendously ridiculous, and he laughs in spite of himself.

“Ok, now I feel like a sick kid staying home from school,” he says.

“You are quite a child to me, Gabriel,” she replies. “Is that better?”

“Yes, thank you. But I would like a bedtime story. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Ah, verdammt!” she exclaims suddenly. “I am so stupid about some things. You will have to forgive me.”

“What? What is it?”

“Of course you cannot stand. You are completely dehydrated and probably starving. I will get a nurse to bring you something right away.”

He watches her with an increasing feeling of admiration as she picks up the telephone to give the appropriate instructions to her staff. She seems so different to him now. So much sweeter and…softer. But her immense strength, both physical and mental, is undeniable. Perhaps what he has been taking to be coldness and calculation is simply the staid pragmatism of a person far older and more experienced than himself. She is a fascinating woman, this Dr. Ziegler.

“Gabriel,” she says, after she has replaced the phone in the cradle. “Colonel Lawrence and Commander Andreev know all about me, but I have not told the members of your team what I have told you. I would prefer to keep it between us, for now.”

“Of course,” he replies. “Your secret’s safe with me, Angela. And thank you. For trusting me with it.”

 


	39. The Count of Monte Cristo

Angela wakes with a start, yanked rudely out of her peaceful oblivion by a sharp knock on her office door. She hasn’t slept in five days, so of course someone needs something now. During her single hour of rest in one-hundred and twenty.

“Come in,” she calls testily, smoothing her platinum curls. Her sour expression gives way to a smile as Commander Andreev enters. “Aleksei, how are you today?”

“How’d it go?” Andreev asks, getting directly to business as always.

“As well as could be expected,” she says resignedly. “They appear to be dormant for the moment.”

“How long a moment?”

“I cannot say. They are adapting. I had to use an almost lethal concentration to produce even this result.”

“Was it bad?”

“I was able to keep him calm. But…Aleksei, he suffered very much.” Tears spring into her pale-blue eyes. They wet her long black lashes and begin to roll down her white cheeks. “I fear he will not survive another such treatment.”

“You’re going to save him,” the old Major says, placing a comforting hand on hers. “I’ve never seen you like this about a subject. You alright, darlin’?”

“I will be alright,” she sighs. “I am always alright. But I cannot abide the thought of losing him now. He is so important. He is the best result I have ever had. His body should have been able to resist the nanites. I cannot figure out why it is not doing so. Instead, they are thriving in his blood. It is as if—as if…”

The words die on her lips as a new and dreadful thought takes sudden hold of her mind. But it cannot be possible. Can it? She must speak to Dr. Voss at once.

“I must speak to Dr. Voss at once,” she says. “Where is he?”

“Right where you left him. Safe and sound in Agent Shearwater’s tender care.”

“I do not understand why you allow Noah to torment him like this,” she says testily. “He is no use to me when he is at his wits’ end.”

“You may recall that Voss tormented Noah pretty god damned thoroughly, Angela. But he doesn’t do anything cruel to him. Unless you count speaking to him in Afrikaans and calling him by his first name to irritate him.”

“Well, I wish you would put a different guard on him, anyway. I need him thinking clearly. Shall we?”

The two rise and exit Angela’s office, headed for the security floor.

“It is revolting,” she says, as they step into the elevator, “that Noah is sleeping with Agent Barrett.”

“I don’t find it particularly revolting,” Andreev replies. “But I suppose I can see the objection.”

“Does she know?”

“No.”

“Heilige Mutter Gottes,” she says under her breath. “The longer Thomas waits to tell her, the worse it is going to be.”

“I am aware. But he’s an old mule about some things and he won’t listen to me. Says the time ain’t right.”

They step off the elevator at the basement level and make their way down a long, concrete-walled corridor. As they round the corner, they hear Noah’s voice. He is sitting in a chair before the bars of Dr. Voss’s cell, holding a book in his hands. He looks up and smiles cheerfully.

“Hello, Dr. Ziegler. Commander Andreev.”

Dr. Voss clutches the iron bars in a melodramatic attitude of entreaty. “Please!” he cries out. “Angela, make him stop! Make him stop this!”

“What have you been doing to him?” Angela asks crossly.

“I’ve been reading to him,” Noah says brightly. He holds up the book. “ _The Count of Monte Cristo_. It’s a favorite of his. I thought he would enjoy it, but honestly, he’s been very disagreeable about it.”

Andreev and Angela look at Dr. Voss.

“He has been reading it, yes!” Voss growls. “And he has been pronouncing all of the French words incorrectly on purpose! He is trying to drive me mad!”

“You see what I mean?” Noah says, all injured innocence. “It’s not polite to point out other people’s faults that way.”

“Polite! Faults!! You speak perfect French, you fucking—”

“Enough,” Andreev says. He doesn’t raise his voice, but the effect is the same as if he has. Dr. Voss shuts his mouth and backs away from the bars. “Dr. Ziegler wants to speak with you, Voss. Noah, let’s go get a cup of coffee.”

“Sure thing, Commander,” the young man says, hopping up from his chair. He waves the book at Dr. Voss. “See you soon, Kaspar!”

Andreev smiles inwardly at the boy’s inventiveness in devising this singular torment for the old doctor, as well as his aptitude for appearing so unaffectedly childlike while he executes it. Noah’s wide-eyed sprightliness dissolves as they enter the elevator.

“That old war-criminal,” he says. “He’s lucky the worst I’m doing is reading to him. How is Agent Reyes?”

“Surviving. The things are under control for now.”

“What does Dr. Ziegler want with Voss?”

“Don’t know. I don’t bother her with questions when I can see she’s onto something. She wouldn’t be able to make me understand it anyway.”

“I would understand. But she would never talk to me about it.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I know what she thinks of me, Aleksei. She doesn’t even bother to conceal it. She looks at me like I am a… _thing_.”

“Angela is old-fashioned. It’s all that religious nonsense she believes in that’s to blame, not anything about you. She can’t reconcile the idea of a person being brought back the way you were without getting tangled up in her mystical notion of a God-given soul, joined to the body at conception and divided at death.”

“The idea of a soul is just shorthand we use to describe the complex interaction between biology, memory, and chance that shapes a personality,” Noah says flatly. “I have as legitimate a claim to having a soul as anyone else.”

“I know it, son. For my part, you’re just as human as I am. Maybe more.”

“But…am I, Aleksei?” he says, frowning thoughtfully. “I have Noah’s memories. I have Noah’s body. I believe I am Noah. But how can I ever be sure? I…I died, Aleksei. I remember dying. And I remember waking up in that hospital. But they’re entirely separate threads. There’s no connection between the two. Until my memory was recovered, I wasn’t Noah Ryskamp. I was me, but not… _me_ like I am now. If you hadn’t found me, I’d have never been Noah again.”

“I don’t know if that’s true,” Andreev says. “The way Voss tells it, you were pretty much the same smart-mouthed little shit, memory or not.”

Noah grins broadly. “Aw, come on. You’re just saying that to cheer me up.”

Andreev returns the smile, a rare and notable occurrence. “No, I mean it. He tried everything he had to control you, and he ultimately failed. I think you were still in there.”

“Thank you, Aleksei. That…means a lot to me.”

“Well, don’t mention it.” He pauses. “Seriously, don’t. Can’t have the staff thinking I’ve gone soft.”

“My lips are sealed, Commander.”

 

 

Jack is lying on the living room floor playing with General Jackson’s brood of kittens, when he hears Gabe open the front door.

“Jack?” Gabe calls out.

“I’m in here,” Jack replies. “The enemy has me surrounded and there’s no escape!”

Gabe walks in and leans on the archway between the front hall and living room. He smiles down at his beautiful little family. One tall, blonde, former Marine turned super-soldier, and five black and white kittens that are beginning to get very big. Their mother trots in and nuzzles his boot.

“Hey, you fat floozy,” he says affectionately. He scoops up the purring beast and sits cross-legged on the floor beside Jack.

“How’d it go?” Jack asks, removing a kitten from his chest so he can sit up. He lays a hand on Gabe’s face and frowns. “You look tired.”

“It was alright. Just really tedious. Angela kept wanting to wait, and then she had to take more blood. You know. Medical stuff always sucks.”

Gabe isn’t being entirely dishonest. Angela had wanted to wait. The actual reason is that he’d been too weak to walk at the time, but the words are strictly true. He gazes at Jack’s concerned face and decides he’s doing the right thing.

“Anyway, I’m in the clear for a while,” he says nonchalantly. “The nanites are dormant and who knows, if we keep up this treatment, I might never get sick at all.”

“Oh, Gabe, that’s such a relief. I’ve been so worried.”

“Well, you can relax for a while, baby. What’s for dinner? I’m starving.”

“Marie is making some kind of vegetable thing and some kind of meat thing,” Jack says. “I don’t know what they are, but I’m sure they’ll be amazing. Did you just call the doctor Angela?”

“I meant to say that, uh...clinical psychopath,” Gabe says, grinning.

“I hope you two are getting on better terms, Gabe. She is trying to save your life, you know.”

“I know, baby. We talked a bit while we were waiting for results, and I guess she’s not as bad as I thought. Now, I need to go take a shower before I do anything else. Being in a doctor’s office all day is hard work.”

Gabe deposits the General among her troops and heads upstairs. Jack waits, listening for the water to start, then follows him. He sheds his clothing on his way through the bedroom and slips into the steaming shower with Gabe. Gabe wraps his arms around Jack and pulls him close, comforted by the feeling of his naked skin under the hot water.

Jack presses his hard cock against Gabe’s hip. “Do you ever think about that first shower we took together?”

“Hm, I’m not sure,” Gabe says. “Remind me what happened? We exchanged pleasantries like decent human beings, and then minded our own business, right?”

“Yep,” Jack says. “Exactly. And you certainly didn’t stick your tongue down my throat without asking.”

“Right, now I remember. And I definitely didn’t fuck you right there in the public shower, either.”

“Good thing you didn’t—ah! Cause I would’ve…” Jack moans softly as Gabe grasps his cock and strokes it.

“What was that? You would’ve…what?”

“I would have…fuck.” Jack laughs. “I have no idea.”

“Mmm, I have an idea.”

Gabe turns Jack around and bends him over. Jack puts his hands on the tiles of the wall for support. Gabe kneels behind him and spreads him open with both hands. Jack gasps and trembles as Gabe’s tongue traces slow circles around the sensitive rim of his asshole. Gabe flicks his tongue over the opening, teasing and caressing it, pushing his tongue just inside, then withdrawing it, till Jack is moaning and shaking all over. Gabe slides a finger slowly inside, then another. Jack groans and pushes himself back onto them. His muscles relax and begin to give way. Gabe stands up and leans over him, kissing down his back, pushing his hard cock against Jack’s wet skin. He holds him open with his thumbs and penetrates him gradually, patiently working his cock into Jack’s hot, tight asshole, till he is inside him up to his pubic bone.

“I made you come the first time I fucked you,” Gabe purrs, beginning to thrust. “You’re still such a slut for my cock, cariño.”

“Ah—I am,” Jack pants. “I love—I love your cock…fuck. Fuck me!”

Gabe takes him by the hips and thrusts harder. “You like that, baby?”

Jack moans in response. His muscles are quivering and tightening around Gabe’s cock. He arches his back and begins to throw his own weight into Gabe’s thrusts. He’s going to come soon. Gabe can feel it. He increases the force of his thrusts and quickens his pace. He’s so thirsty. He opens his mouth and swallows some of the hot water pouring down on them from the shower. His head suddenly feels light and starts to spin. He holds onto Jack’s back to steady himself. Jack moans and shudders.

“Fuck—I’m gonna come,” he breathes. “Harder. Fuck me harder.”

Gabe drives himself into Jack with all the force he can muster, but his head is whirling and he’s losing his balance. By a sudden, uncontrollable urge, he bends down and bites into the meat of Jack’s shoulder. He tastes Jack’s blood in his mouth. Jack cries out bucks back against him, quaking and convulsing with the intensity of his ejaculation. Gabe bites down harder, swallowing a hot, salty mouthful of Jack’s blood. He comes so hard his vision goes black. He staggers and slips backward. Jack catches him a split second before his head collides with the glass door of the shower.

“Gabe, honey, are you ok?” Jack asks in a panicked voice. “What happened?”

“I’m ok,” Gabe says. “I’m ok. It’s just hot in here and I got faint for a second.”

Jack doesn’t appear to be convinced. He gazes searchingly into Gabe’s face.

Gabe smiles up at him. “You can put me down now, baby.”

“Maybe I don’t want to, now I’ve got you,” Jack says. He hoists Gabe the rest of the way off the floor and holds him in his arms. “I’m just as strong as you are, but I never get to show off for you.”

He pushes the shower door open with his foot and carries Gabe into their bedroom.

“Jack, this is ridiculous,” Gabe laughs. “You put me down!”

Jack tosses him onto their bed and climbs on top of him. “You impressed?”

“Oh, I am,” Gabe says. “My big strong man.”

“Are you sure you’re alright, though?”

“Honey, I am fine. I think overdid it a little fucking you so hard, is all. I haven’t really eaten anything today and I had a lot of blood drawn.”

“Is that why you were trying to drink mine?” Jack grins.

Gabe strokes Jack’s shoulder where he had bitten into it. Not a scratch to be seen. Not even a bruise.

“I think you liked it,” he says.

“I did. I like when you’re so…enthusiastic.”

“That’s right,” Gabe says. “I’m so enthusiastic about you, I thought I’d just cut to the chase and try to consume you outright. You better watch out. I’ll try it again.”

“I hope so. Hey! Stop that! No more sex until you’ve eaten and rested properly.”

“I’ll rest when I’m dead. I want to fuck you some more.”

Gabe wheedles and cajoles until Jack scolds him and makes him get some clothes on so they can go downstairs to dinner. When they sit down to the excellent meal Marie has prepared, Gabe finds he doesn’t feel hungry at all. He makes a sufficient show of eating to satisfy his fretting beloved, however, and drinks enough water to float a small regatta. He lays awake for a long time that night, listening to Jack’s deep, regular breathing beside him. It isn’t that he feels particularly anxious about any one thing, he simply can’t shut his mind off. He is mulling over exactly how they are going to find good homes for the General’s furry little progeny, when he drifts off to sleep at last.

 


	40. Distance

Colonel Lawrence is agitated. Not in a way that impacts his behavior markedly, or is even noticeable to the staff (aside from Shearwater), for that matter. It’s more like a low-level hum coming from an electric fan, that you don’t really hear until it suddenly catches your attention, and then it’s all you can hear. Something is going on with the team. They appear to be functioning perfectly as a unit, just like always, but his instinct for this kind of thing is impeccable, honed by many decades of leading small, covert detachments built more like families than military divisions. Something is straining at the bond between them and he can feel it just as clearly as if it were a physical sensation.

This is an unfortunate time for such a strain to emerge, considering the changes the organization is poised to undergo very shortly. He needs to get to the root of it and attempt to devise a remedy, if possible. Where to start, is the question. He sits back in his chair and drums his fingers on his desk. Aleksei will be no help. He’ll dismiss his concerns as hovering over the kids like an old hen and tell him to mind his business. Shearwater would be an even worse bet. He’ll see right through the old man and then his whole investigation will be spoiled.

Shearwater, that little—he’d nearly hit the ceiling when he’d found out about the two of them. But he can’t stay angry with Noah for long. Noah, who’d sacrificed his own life all those years ago to save the life of a man who had mistreated him so gravely. A man who had accepted his affection and devotion, knowing full well that he would never really love him back. Not the way the boy wanted. Not the way he loved Aleksei, solely and to the exclusion of all others. Jack and Gabriel have something like that between them.

Gabriel. That’s the place to start. He’s friendly with the whole team and practically married to their Commander, which puts him in an excellent position to know everything about everyone without feeling it his duty to tell the Boss, like Jack would. That’s why they confide in Gabriel. That’s why he’s the man to talk to. He smiles to himself, thinking of the tall, dark-eyed young man who had come so near to an extraordinarily agonizing death just months before. Gabriel’s always been his favorite, though he don’t let him know it. He’s extremely pleased that the boy is doing so well. Angie and that old war-criminal Voss have done a god damned miracle.

With a pang of guilt, he realizes his favorite should be Lydia. But it’s understandable. They didn’t know each other for most of her life. It ain’t like they lived under the same roof as parent and child. They never got to develop that filial bond that fathers and daughters usually have with each other. She’s far more fond of Aleksei, who she did know growing up.

He sighs. Another regret. But he’s lucky to have so few regrets at his age. And he’s doing his best to do right by her now. Never telling her…that’ll be his final gift to her. Letting her live her life without the ugly fact of her real paternity hanging over her head, soiling her memories of her beloved, deceased father and happy childhood home. And especially never letting her find out that her boyfriend used to sleep with her real daddy. That’d probably cause some kind of mental crisis or something. He certainly doesn’t want that. He genuinely wants her and Noah to be happy. If they’re happy together, so much the better. It was before she was born, anyway. Strange that Noah hasn’t picked up on how much she resembles him, though. Those iridescent green eyes are a dead giveaway. At least, he’d have supposed they’d be. No one on the team seems to have noticed it either. He decides that’s not a bad thing. Best to let those particular sleeping dogs lie, anyway. Now, where was he? That’s right. Gabriel.

The Colonel strolls casually out of his office a little after lunch time. This is usually when Gabriel can be found up on the smoking patio. They’ve met there many times, as the Colonel enjoys a good cigar (or a bad one) and Aleksei won’t let him smoke in his office anymore. He finds Gabe sitting on the picnic table with his feet on the bench, as is his custom.

“Hey, boss,” Gabe says, nodding his greeting. They’ve finally stopped jumping to attention when the Colonel enters rooms. “How’s it goin’?”

“Afternoon, Gabriel,” Lawrence says. He produces a cigar from his front pocket and Gabe lights it for him. “I’m doin’ ok. How’re things progressing with your treatment? Angie takin’ good care of you?”

“Well, I’m not going to die,” Gabe replies, with one of his ironic grins. “So I’d say it’s pretty satisfactory, all things considered. Though I’m starting to suspect that she enjoys watching me suffer.”

“Ha! Well, doctors can seem that way. Especially Angie. She ain’t exactly famous for her bedside manner. But she’s the best there is, so you’re in good hands.”

“I know it, sir.”

“You know, she was pretty worked up about you. Aleksei and I have never seen her take treating a patient so personally before. She must really like you.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Gabe says, laughing. “But all joking aside, she’s been an excellent physician. I don’t like to be coddled, and she doesn’t do that. She gives it to me straight, and trusts me to handle it like a man. I appreciate that.”

“That’s Angie,” the Colonel smiles. “She don’t mince words.” He puffs thoughtfully on his cigar for a moment. “So, what do you and Jack think about this new thing we want to try out?”

Gabe hesitates, then says, “I don’t know, boss. It’s been just the six of us for so long, now. So, I guess my real concerns would be how these new recruits will handle themselves with the kind of work we do and how they’ll fit into…the group dynamic.”

“Those are perfectly legitimate concerns. First of all, they’ll be nearly as carefully screened and selected as you all were. Not quite as meticulously, since we don’t have years to do it in, but you and your teammates will be involved in the recruiting process, so hopefully between all of us, we’ll be able to weed out any bad apples. But listen, son. What I wanted to talk to you about is that group dynamic you mentioned. What I intend to do is balance the team so that eventually, we can split you into two, fully-functioning units. One of those units will be led by Jack, and the other one will be led by you.”

Gabe raises his eyebrows. “Me, boss?”

“Yes, you, Gabriel,” the Colonel says with a chuckle. “Don’t act so surprised, son. I had a leadership position in mind for you all along. When we start expanding the program, I’ll need more than one Commander to handle all the agents. Noah has too much to do babysitting me to be committed to that kind of role. And, to be completely honest, I don’t think he’d make half the Commander you would. He’s too impulsive and distractible. He needs direction in order to operate at full capacity. You, on the other hand, you’re a natural leader, like Jack is. You just have a different style is all.”

“You think so?” Gabe grins. “What is my style?”

“Well, it’s like this. Jack is a charismatic leader who inspires his men to hold themselves to a higher standard by his example. His way of remaining a little above them, kind of untouchable, if you will, is his strength. Your strength is the opposite. They’ll follow you because they know that you’re one-hundred percent on their level and they can trust you to have each one of their best interests in mind all the time. You’ve got a way of forming personal bonds with each of your teammates that makes them all _want_ to follow you.”

“That’s—that’s very flattering, sir. I don’t know what to say.”

“Just say you’ll do it,” the Colonel laughs. “But there’s more to it that than. Come sit down here so I can look at you while we talk.”

Gabe moves to a seat on the bench, across the table from Colonel Lawrence. He lights another cigarette as the Colonel opens his topic.

“Listen, son, what this new team structure is going to mean, is that you and Jack will be on the same level. He won’t be your superior anymore. You’ll both have equal say in things and equal responsibility for your people. Now, I don’t think that will be a problem for you two, but it’s only fair to make you aware of the strain that might put on your relationship. I know they say not to take that shit home with you, but that’s a lot easier to preach than to practice. If you disagree strongly enough about something, something that puts your men’s lives on the line, for example, then it’ll be almost impossible to leave it at the door when you come home. I know all this from personal experience. Aleksei calls me boss, and it’s true here, but it wasn’t always like that. We had pretty equal roles in the work we were doing previously, and it’s a testament to his patience with me that we’re still together at all. I guess I want to get your take on how you and Jack will bear up under that kind of outside pressure.”

Gabe thinks for a long moment before he answers. “I think we’ll be ok, boss. I mean, I hope we will. We’ve been together for a long time, and I don’t think we’ve ever even argued about anything work related. I can’t see the future, or anything, but I can’t imagine our work coming between us. I guess we’ll have to jump off that bridge when we come to it.”

“Good. Because there’s no job in the world that’s worth sacrificing what you two have together. I know that from experience, too.”

“Boss, if you don’t mind, I’d like to hear about how you and Commander Andreev met,” Gabe says. “Shearwater told us it was an interesting story.”

“I suppose it is,” the Colonel says, scratching his whiskers thoughtfully. “When you’ve lived a life like mine, it’s easy to forget that what’s ordinary to you might seem pretty extraordinary to other folks. Well, let’s see. The first time I laid eyes on him was in Egypt, many, many years ago. I was a young man, then. Thirty years old. Aleksei was even younger. Just nineteen. I was there to extract some highly-advanced radar that the Israeli Air Force tipped us off to, that’d been givin’ the Soviets a dangerous edge in the conflict over there.

I entered Egypt by HALO drop and made it to my target location, but the Soviets were wise to me, and I got ambushed at what was supposed to be an abandoned outpost. They had me on my knees with eight or nine Kalashnikovs in my face, when I caught sight of this boy walking toward me out of the darkness of the camp. The first thing I noticed was his white-blonde hair all lit up under the floodlights. Then his black uniform, which was immaculate when literally everyone else was covered head to toe in dust. His just strolled right up like he owned the place and looked down at me from these razor-sharp, icy-blue eyes. I felt like a dog at his feet.

I remember thinkin’ how arrogant he was, and also how he was the most beautiful human being I’d ever seen, male or female. I was already a famous spy by then, and he was just beginning his career. He wanted to prove that he could break me. He gave it his best shot, but it didn’t exactly turn out the way either of us expected. I’ll spare you the exact details, but before I left Egypt, I was so head over heels for him, that I could hardly remember my own name. He told me he loved me, too, and we swore to love each other and no one else as long as we lived. We’ve been true to our word ever since.”

“Holy shit, boss,” Gabe says, with a long, slow exhalation. “That’s a hell of a story. Jack and I just met in Commander Andreev’s CQC class. Not nearly as dramatic.”

“It don’t have to be dramatic to be true love. I see the way he looks at you and I know that’s what I’m seein’. I just hope you don’t wind up putting his love to the test the way I did with Aleksei.” A genuine look of pain softens the old warrior’s rugged countenance. “Even my lifetime ain’t long enough for me to make up for what I put him through.”

“Boss,” Gabe says slowly. “Why did Commander Andreev stop the augmentation treatment?”

“That was my fault,” the Colonel says, gazing into the glowing ember at the end of his cigar. “Aleksei was an interrogator for the GRU Spetsnaz. When he defected to the US, I taught him everything I knew, and made him my chief interrogator. He stopped the treatment because he said he couldn’t bear the thought of living forever with all that blood on his hands.”

“I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Nah, don’t be. It’s better that you know it. Might stop you from making the same mistakes we did. Can I give you another piece of advice, since we’re talking like this?”

“Of course, boss.”

“Don’t keep things from Jack. Whatever else you do, be honest with him about everything.” Gabe’s expression remains almost perfectly tranquil, but the Colonel observes a slight alteration in the color of his cheeks and the set of his brow. “Just remember,” he continues, “every single thing you hide from him, no matter what the reason, will put another inch of distance between you. And when you’re gonna live as long as us, that distance can grow so wide, that one day you won’t be able to reach him anymore.”

The two sit in silence for a moment, then the Colonel smiles his broad, jovial smile.

“Well, I think I’ve done enough woolgathering and lecturing for today,” he says, rising to go. “Just remember what I told you, alright?”

“I’ll remember, boss,” Gabe says, rising as well. “Thank you.”

Colonel Lawrence returns to his office, knowing with absolute certainty that he has discovered the source of the strain on the bond between the team. Gabriel is keeping something from Jack. Something important. And it doesn’t take a world-renowned spy to figure out who’s behind it. He picks up the telephone and punches in a number.

“Hey there, Angie,” he says cheerfully into the receiver. “You got a minute?”

 


	41. The Animals

Gabe groans in his throat and cranes his neck to look down at Jack. He’s shaking and gasping for breath. Jack’s mouth is hot and tight and wet on his cock, his rough tongue rolling around the head, sending lightning bolts of pleasure through Gabe’s body.

“Ah—fuck!” Gabe groans again. “Suck me, baby—ah!”

Jack pulls back for a moment. “Don’t come, Gabriel.”

“I—ah—I won’t. Fuck…”

Jack hums in response. The low vibration curls up through Gabe’s cock into the pit of his stomach. He bucks up with his hips, driving himself into the back of Jack’s throat.

“I can’t—I can’t hold it, baby,” he pants. “Fuck, I can’t—”

Jack draws away and grins, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He climbs over Gabe and straddles his lap.

“Don’t move or I’ll stop,” he purrs.

Jack’s hot breath on his ear sends shivers down Gabe’s spine. He twitches and gasps as something cold and wet drizzles onto his throbbing cock. He looks around blearily and sees a bottle in Jack’s hand.

Jack raises an eyebrow, tossing the bottle off to the side. “I said don’t move.”

Gabe stares helplessly into those big, blue eyes as Jack begins to slide down onto his slick, rigid shaft. He rocks his hips, pushing Gabe inside a little, withdrawing, and then taking him deeper. Gabe grips the edge of the mattress, knuckles white, straining with every ounce of his strength against the urge to thrust. Beads of sweat break out on his forehead and roll down his face.

“Don’t—mmh. Don’t come yet,” Jack says. “Bite me.”

Gabe drops his head and sinks his teeth into Jack’s neck just above the shoulder.

“Harder,” Jack pants. “Harder!”

Gabe bites down again, cutting into Jack’s white skin with his sharp teeth. Blood gushes into his mouth and spills down Jack’s chest. Jack cries out and drives himself onto Gabe’s cock, taking it all the way to the base.

“Gabe, fuck, I’m gonna come. Fuck me—fuck me!”

Gabe grabs Jack’s ass with both hands and thrusts, feeling Jack’s insides clamp down on him. He bites into the other side of his neck, swallowing Jack’s blood as the hot streams of his ejaculation spurt onto his stomach. He covers Jack’s mouth with a savage, desperate kiss, moaning into it as he comes deep inside him.

Gabe falls back onto the bed, breathless and blissful. Lightheaded with the temporary relief that comes only after he and Jack have been intimate like this.

Jack tumbles down beside him, laughing. “I look like I’ve been in a fight with Dracula.”

“You look beautiful,” Gabe says dreamily, running his fingers lightly over one of the quickly-closing gashes.

“We heal so fast,” Jack says. “It’s been less than a minute and I don’t even feel it anymore.”

“They’ll be completely gone in another minute. Like they were never there.” There’s an odd note in Gabe’s voice. Almost like regret.

Jack nestles his head into the crook of Gabe’s neck and drapes an arm across his chest. “You want to put permanent marks on me, huh?”

“I think a ring would serve the purpose,” Gabe says, burying his nose in Jack’s soft, blonde hair and breathing in deeply. “Let’s get married, baby.”

“You know, I said yes. You don’t have to keep asking.”

“I will keep asking until you finally set a date, Jack. How much longer do we have to wait?”

Jack sighs and shakes his head beneath Gabe’s chin. Gabe wraps his arms around him and kisses his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to give you a hard time about it. I’ll wait as long as it takes for you to be ready.”

Jack props himself up on one elbow to look into Gabe’s face. “Gabe…are you ok?”

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just that you’ve been all over the map lately, and I don’t know what to make of it. Half the time you’re edgy and irritable, and the other half, you’re extremely affectionate, but you seem so…sad. You don’t seem to ever be just…at ease anymore. What’s going on?”

Gabe looks into Jack’s precious, adoring eyes. It would be so easy to tell him. For a moment, the words dance on the tip of his tongue. _Jack, I’m in pain. I’m in pain all the time. I can’t sleep. I can barely eat. My body feels like it’s being cut apart by tiny razorblades every minute of every day, and I want to die just to have relief from the torment._

“It’s nothing,” he says at last. “Just, getting the new recruits trained and organized is driving me up the fucking wall. It’s pretty exhausting.”

“You haven’t been sleeping, Gabe. Of course you’re exhausted.”

“I know, baby. I’ve had a lot on my mind. I’ll try to be better about getting rest, ok?”

“Ok,” Jack says reluctantly.

He sighs again and returns his head to its former position on Gabe’s shoulder. He doesn’t believe Gabe’s explanation, but he doesn’t know how to press it without making him angry. He’s been extremely touchy and defensive when approached about his condition and treatment, and Jack can’t bear it when Gabe is angry with him. He becomes silent and freezes him out, sometimes for days. For Jack, this is a worse punishment than if Gabe shouted or stormed, or even became violent. The thing Jack can’t abide is Gabe’s silence. It terrifies him. It is the reason he has been so reluctant to set a date upon which to marry the man he loves. What if one day, he pushes Gabe so hard that he decides to be silent forever? The black isolation of that kind of existence would be a fate worse than death for Jack. So he lets it go once more, hoping that this storm will blow over, and that they will be happy again. Really happy. Like they were before.

What Jack does not know, is that Gabe’s apparent angry silence is his attempt to protect Jack from the truth. He knows how his silence hurts Jack and he hates doing it, but it’s the only way he knows to stop Jack from questioning him until he uncovers the knowledge that will cause him so much suffering. Gabe is suffering physically, but he can’t bear the thought of the mental anguish it will cause Jack to know it. So he shuts down completely when Jack approaches the subject. He becomes reticent and withdraws into himself, waiting for the danger to pass. What else can he do?

So they lie there in bed together, wrapped tightly in each others arms, neither saying what they are dying to say, and both trying desperately to hang on to the other in the best way they know how. And the rift grows.

 

Gabe is sitting in the study, looking over a stack of reports regarding the progress of each of his new recruits. They are all out with other original team members today, being trained in various specialties, and Gabe is thankful for the peace and quiet. He looks up briefly and nods his greeting as Agent Shearwater enters the study, carrying a smaller stack of folders. Much to his chagrin, the young man does not pass on to the lounge, as Gabe had assumed was his intention. Instead, he stops and stands a few feet away, gazing at Gabe with an odd expression in his peculiarly fascinating grey eyes. 

“Agent Reyes,” he says. “Would you mind if I sat in here for a while? I don’t mean to interrupt your work, but I’d like to be somewhere besides my office.”

“Not at all,” Gabe says, smiling politely. “Make yourself at home.”

He returns to his reading as the agent takes a seat on the sofa across the coffee table from the one on which Gabe is seated. He opens one of the files he brought and appears to be engrossed in its contents, but Gabe can’t shake the feeling that the young man is paying keen and particular attention to him. He’s not looking at him, but it’s almost as if Gabe can feel his _energy_ , for lack of a better word, reaching out and probing into his personal space. Gabe grows increasingly agitated by this feeling, till he closes the report with a snap that makes the other man start and look up.

“Agent Shearwater,” Gabe begins, almost brusquely. “If you—” but Noah cuts him off.

“Would you like to get a cup of coffee?” he says pleasantly. But there is a warning look on his face that gives Gabe pause. “I mean real coffee,” he continues, “not the garbage we have here. There’s a little café down the street that makes excellent espresso.”

“Sure,” Gabe says, attempting to match his casual tone. “I could use a breath of fresh air anyway.”

“Fantastic! You won’t be disappointed. They use one of the old La Marzocco machines from Italy. It’s a real treat.”

Gabe follows the Colonel’s right-hand man down to lobby, bursting with curiosity to know what this could possibly mean. They take the sidewalk leading out the main gate to the street, where they turn left and continue along the tree-lined avenue toward the little restaurant district nearby. Gabe tries again.

“Agent Shearwater.”

“Just Noah, please,” the young man responds cheerily.

“Noah, what is this—”

Noah shakes his head.

“This is my favorite spot to walk in the Langley-McLean area,” he says. “Everything is so lush and green here. In South Africa, this is our summertime. It’s hot and dry there, not like here at all.”

“Do you ever miss it?” Gabe asks, playing along for the moment.

“I miss things about it. I miss…people I left there. But it wasn’t a pleasant place for me. I left during apartheid, in 1975. When things were really bad.”

“What the fuck do you mean in 1975?” Gabe asks, astonished. “How old were you?”

“I was sixteen.”

“But that would make you—”

“Older than I look?” Noah says with a charmingly boyish grin. “We all are, really. Me and the boss and Aleksei and Dr. Ziegler, I mean. I wouldn’t think you’d be so surprised by it at this point.”

“I guess I never thought about it,” Gabe says, eyeing his companion closely. “Are you like us?”

“If you mean the genetic enhancement, then I’m not,” Noah says. “I’m something a bit…different. I am more like you specifically, though, than the other HEAs.”

“HEAs?” Gabe asks.

“High-efficiency assets. I apologize. That’s how we referred to the augmented agents theoretically, when the program was being conceptualized.”

“But how are you not like them and more like me? I am completely lost, here.”

“Gabriel, what has Dr. Ziegler told you about what she and Dr. Voss have been doing to treat you?”

The question is such an unexpected left turn, that it takes Gabe a moment to recover.

“Not much of the science behind it,” he says, after a pause. “She was using some kind of serum to dope them up and make them go dormant, which temporarily halted their destructive affects on my body. That worked for a while, but it was incredibly painful and it was taking stronger and stronger doses to do the trick. But then she told me that they found a way to shut them down permanently. The new treatment isn’t any less painful than the serum, to be honest. But it’s worth it for a permanent solution. I should be almost entirely free of them in a few months.”

They have arrived at the café, and Noah holds the glass door open for Gabe to enter. The place is crowded, and they remain silent as they wait in line, not wanting anything they might have to say to be overheard by the other patrons. Noah orders an espresso macchiato, and Gabe orders the same. Just as they receive their beverages, a couple vacates a small corner table, and the two men take the open seats. They have to lean close over the table to hear each other in the noisy bustle of the café without raising their voices high enough to be overheard. Gabe realizes that this must be the reason Noah has chosen this place. It can’t really be the coffee, which has an odd, metallic tang that Gabe finds intensely distasteful.

“Gabriel,” Noah says, almost into Gabe’s ear. “I don’t know how else to tell you this, so I will just say it. The nanites…your body is alive with them. They are so loud, it’s almost all I can hear when I’m near you.”

Gabe draws back. “What the fuck do you mean? What do you mean you can fucking hear them?”

“If you knew what I am, it would make more sense,” Noah says. “For now, just understand that my type of enhancement was mechanical, not biological. Because of it, I am extremely sensitive to electrical activity of any kind. I can hear anything that uses electricity and identify it as clearly as if it were right in front of me. Gabriel, I can hear the machines inside you. They are strong and they are…countless. They are all singing in unison, like a chorus of millions.”

“Noah,” Gabe replies flatly. “You are aware of how completely insane this sounds, yes?”

“Yes. I am,” Noah says. “I don’t expect you to take my word for it, though. I am a doctor too, Gabriel. So, if you want to see it with your own eyes, I can take a blood sample and show you.”

“Why would I want you to do that?” Gabe asks curtly, attempting to check his growing wrath.

“Because whatever Dr. Ziegler is doing to you, it’s not working. At least not the way she says.”

“But it is working,” Gabe says. His head spins and buzzes with agitation as his adrenaline begins to kick in.

“How do you know?” 

“Let me ask you a question first, Noah,” Gabe says fiercely. “Does the boss know you are attempting to interfere with Dr. Ziegler’s work this way?”

Noah sits up, taken aback by Gabe’s hostile response. He stares into his face for a moment.

“No,” he says. “The boss doesn’t know I undertook to speak to you about this. I will tell him myself, though. I haven’t hidden it from him for fear of his reaction. It was only to give you the courtesy of being the first to know what I have suspected for some time.”

“Which is?”

“That you may be in serious danger.” He fixes Gabe’s burning black eyes with his luminous grey ones. “If you allow this treatment to continue, I can’t guess what will happen to you.”

“If you can’t guess, then maybe you should leave it up to people who can,” Gabe says sharply. His head is throbbing as if his brain is swelling in his skull. “Have you at least addressed this concern with Dr. Ziegler?”

“Of course not. I don’t entirely trust Angela, and I absolutely know Voss can’t be trusted. What he did…but that is neither here nor there. Again, I wanted to speak to you first.”

“How kind of you,” Gabe sneers.

“Gabriel, I apologize for interfering,” Noah says, appearing genuinely shaken by Gabe’s suddenly aggressive demeanor. “I was only trying to help you. I will take my concerns to Colonel Lawrence, then.”

“See that you do,” Gabe says, rising abruptly. He clutches his head with one hand as the pressure increases. “You’ll understand if I’d prefer to walk back alone, yes?”

Without waiting for a response, he turns and stalks out of the café. Noah watches him with a curious expression on his youthful face. When Gabe is out of sight, he walks outside and takes his phone from his pocket. He taps the screen and then holds it to his ear.

“Hey boss,” he says after a brief pause. “The animals want to talk.”

 

 


	42. Thula Baba

Light is always the first thing we comprehend. The first thing that strikes our senses in any situation. The first thing we look for after waking from the darkness of sleep. The first thing we yearn for when it is taken away. If the Earth were suddenly deprived of both oxygen and light, we would notice the loss of light first. Our thought would be, “It is dark and we are dying.”

This is the young combat medic’s thought as the helicopter plunges into the deep black sea. As the hurtling momentum of the stupefied steel beast punctures the surface-tension and buries them under thousands of fathoms of water. The chopper bucked and shuddered. Metal shrieked. Before they’d known what had hit them, they were engulfed in flames.

_It is dark and we are dying._

The sea takes the force of the impact into itself and disperses it over countless miles. It holds his body in its crushing embrace, soothing his scorched skin as it draws him down into its cold depths. Quickly, mercifully, it enters his mouth and nose and lungs, driving away the blazing agony of his final breath.

_It is dark and I am dying._

And he died.

It is light, again, of which he is first aware. When the song of the star that guides fathers home at nighttime calls him back from death.

_Thula thul, thula baba thula sana;_

_thul’ u bab’uzo fika eku seni;_

_thula seni_

_kukh’in kanyezi ziholel’ u baba,_

_zimkhan yisela indlel’e_

_ziyekhaya sobelekhaya._

_Thula thula, thula baba_

_sikhona xa bonke beshoyo,_

_bethi buyela ubuye_

_ziyekhaya sobelekhaya._

_Thula san._

He opens his eyes the way a penitent sinner opens the massive doors of iron and oak that stand between himself and the sanctuary. Heavily, slowly, and with an enormous effort of will. Torn by anxiety and hope, yearning for the salvation that lies behind them. He need only open the doors and he will be saved. He need only open his eyes and he will be saved. The light bursts through, blinding him for a few seconds while his retinas adjust. Instead of a priest in a cassock and a spacious, somber nave, he sees a man in a blue coat and a small, white-walled room cluttered with medical equipment. An agitated nurse with messy red hair is scribbling on a clipboard. He hears the man speaking with a sharp, German twang. He is speaking to him.

“Alpha,” he is saying. “Are you with us?”

The young man stares at him. His lip curls with revulsion.

“Alpha,” the man in the blue coat repeats. “Can you hear me?”

“Noah,” the young man replies hoarsely, his voice choked with barely-controlled fury. “My name is Noah.”

The German man turns to the nurse. “No. Didn’t take. We will have to try again. And again and again. This really is becoming a nuisance.” He waves his hand dismissively. “Sedate him.”

Noah strains against the straps that hold his arms and legs, but the nurse has already touched the button that sends the drugged sleep coursing back into his veins. There is no way to fight it. He has tried and failed before. He lets the black cloud roll over his tortured mind and carry him back to sleep. To death. To the song of the star.

“Do you remember the wise rooster and the wicked wolf?” It is tannie Themba’s voice. Sweet and soft and low, like hot milk with honey at bedtime.

She is sitting on her stool by his cot, wrapped in her red and yellow robe. Her round, dark brown face glows in the warm light of the candle she holds. She places it on the little table by his cot. Thunder booms in the distance.

“The rooster was wise,” Noah says. “But, tannie, was he good?”

“Of course he was, baby. Roosters are always good.”

“But he lied to the wolf.”

The boy is all big grey eyes and messy black curls. She brushes them gently out of his face. His skin is pale and waxy. Clammy with the fever and the summer heat.

“He lied to the wolf, yes,” she says. “But he told that lie for a good reason, didn’t he baby?”

Noah nods gravely. “He lied to save his life.”

“That’s right,” she says. “If the rooster hadn’t been very wise and deceived the wolf, he would’ve been dinner.”

“Did God forgive the rooster for lying?” the boy asks anxiously.

“The wolf is a ruthless killer,” she says. “A greedy devourer without mercy or reason. God didn’t make his beautiful rooster to be a meal for a wolf. He made the rooster to sing the sun up in the morning. But he didn’t give the rooster claws or teeth to defend himself. That’s why he made the rooster wise. So he could use his brains and outsmart that stupid old wolf.”

The boy laughs delightedly at the idea of the wolf’s cruelty foiled by its own stupidity. Then he looks earnestly up into her face.

“Tannie,” he says, “would it be alright if I had to tell a lie? To save my life, like the rooster?”

“Is the wolf going to eat you if you don’t?”

“Yes.”

“Then I think God will forgive you for a little lie, baby. Especially one that doesn’t hurt anyone else.”

“I promise it won’t hurt anyone, tannie,” Noah says solemnly. “And I’ll pray twice as hard as usual so God will know I want him to forgive me.”

“Good, baby,” she says gently. “You do that and you’ll be ok.”

Another distant rumble shakes the blackened sky. The boy starts and trembles. He grips her hand tightly. She kisses his hand and reluctantly draws hers away.

“I can’t stay, baby,” she says. “The storm is coming now.”

“I know, Tannie,” Noah says, on the verge of tears.

She caresses his little face. “Remember the animals, baby. Talk to them. Ask them for help when you need it. They are all very wise, just like the rooster.”

“I will, tannie,” he says. “But please come back. Say you’ll come back.”

“Of course I will, baby,” she smiles. “I’ll always be with you.”

A thousand shattering bolts of lightning tear his mind apart. The pain. The pain is everywhere and everything. It rends every fiber of his being until all he knows is pain. He can’t fight it. He is weak. Alone.

The animals.

With his last, desperate breath, he calls out to the animals. Just like tannie Themba had said, they come. Rapidly, mechanically, like tiny automata made of points of light, they appear and arrange themselves before his inner eye. The storm rages. He reaches out toward them. They swarm about him and enclose him like living armor. They carry him away from the pain, keeping him safe within their protective shield, even as they scream with their own agony. They lift him above the storm and he looks down on it with them. He thanks them, soothes them, sings them the song of the star. They grow calm. As they grow calm, they grow strong. They teach him their language. Teach him how they can help him. He knows what to do.

“Take my memory, my _self_ , take it away and hide it,” he tells them. “Hide it from me. Hide it from yourselves. Forget what it is. Refuse to understand it. When the storm comes again, you will remember. Then I will remember, too. That is how we will survive. You and I, together.”

They agree. They separate the boy, Noah—his self and soul—from his mind. They bind it up and lock it away in their secret hoard, to be safe and to await the storm. Then the boy becomes a machine. Not a blank slate, but a human mainframe, full of information and intelligence, without a single scrap of self left to disturb its calculations.

The machine’s eyes snap open. It processes the visual and auditory data in the room and then lays silent, awaiting instruction.

“Alpha,” the German voice says wearily. “Are you with us?”

“Alpha responding,” the machine says. “I am with you, Dr. Voss.”

“Are you?” the German man replies, somewhat startled.

“I have been assigned the designation Alpha, is that correct?”

“Yes,” the doctor says cautiously. “You are Alpha Prime. The control unit.”

“Understood, sir,” the machine says. “Shall I proceed according to parameters found in sub-memory 00117, or shall I await new instructions?”

“Proceed according to set parameters,” Dr. Voss says. He sounds more confident now.

“Once set parameters are executed, the function will continue until the command code is received. Shall I proceed immediately?”

“Immediately, thank you, Alpha,” the doctor replies.

“Very well, sir.”

The machine closes its eyes and goes dormant. The doctor reaches out gingerly and touches its face. No response. He takes its chin in his hand and moves its head from side to side. He slaps its cheek, shouts at it. Then, having a sudden inspiration, he draws out his fountain pen. He takes off the cap and jams the metal tip into the meat of the machine’s left shoulder. Nothing. It breathes evenly and appears to be really unconscious. He breathes a sigh of relief and gestures to the nurse.

“We will have to put him through the usual tests,” he says. “But it appears that we may have succeeded at last. He has been quite a stubborn, unpleasant subject, hasn’t he?”

The nurse agrees, making a note on her clipboard as the two exit the room.

 

 

“But how is this any different than what Voss did to Noah, Angela?” Colonel Lawrence says. His tone is even and relaxed as usual, but he never calls her Angela unless he’s angry.

“How can you even ask me that, Thomas?” Angela snaps back defensively. “No, I know how. Your helpful friend has been filling your head with poison about me again. If you think I am capable of subjecting a living human being to the kind of monstrosity Dr. Voss performed on Noah’s body, then I don’t know why we are even working together. Why don’t you just throw me in a cell, too?”

“Angela, listen,” the Colonel says. “I don’t think you are capable of intentionally doing anything to harm one of my agents. But I need to know why you misled us regarding Gabriel’s treatment, because the fact that you hid it from me suggests that you think what you’ve been doing crosses an ethical line.”

Angela shifts uncomfortably in her chair. “I didn’t tell you because Gabriel didn’t wish for anyone to know. In case it was…unsuccessful.”

“What do you mean Gabriel didn’t want anyone to know?” the Colonel says, taken aback. “He understands what you’re doing?”

“Of course he understands,” she says, tossing her head indignantly. “Did you think I would try something so…experimental without my patient’s full knowledge and consent?”

“No, I didn’t think that, only I’m a bit surprised to hear that he agreed to such a treatment. And particularly that he didn’t want us to know,” he says. “When you told me he didn’t want Jack to know about the constant pain he’s experiencing, I understood that. Hell, I thought it was downright noble of him. But this ain’t the same thing.”

“But it is the same,” she insists. “In both cases, I simply respected my patient’s wish for confidentiality. He had every right to ask that, and I had every right to do so.”

“Angie, come on. You know it ain’t. A man protecting his lover from suffering on his account is a damn sight different than an agent and his physician hiding a radical and untested treatment from their superiors.”

“Superiors?” Angela says, crossing her arms and arching an eyebrow. “You are not my superior, Thomas. I have full autonomy here, particularly when it comes to the medical treatment of the staff.”

“I know you do Angie, and I apologize. I misspoke. But the fact is, Gabriel is more than just a human being and a friend. He is an extremely dangerous, highly valuable weapon belonging to the US Government. It’s my job to know when he’s engaged in something that may have a very immediate impact on his ability to function in his position here.”

“What would be the impact on his ability to function in his position if I had let him die?” Angela retorts heatedly. “I did what I had to do to save him. He was dying, and you know it, Thomas. And he was…suffering.”

The Colonel’s tone softens slightly as he sees the obvious concern tightening the features of her lovely face. “He’s still suffering, from what he told Noah.”

“I know he is,” she says quietly. “But before, we were simply placing our finger in the dam, trying to patch him up for the time-being while the situation inside grew ever more dire. If the new treatment succeeds, he will not continue to have pain. He will be even more—he will recover fully.”

“He will be even more what?” the Colonel asks, fixing her with his keen, bright eyes.

She shifts again and avoids his gaze.

“Angela,” he says. “Tell me you are not using this situation to advance your research.”

“And why should I not!” she exclaims, rising abruptly and beginning to pace. “Is it so wrong to turn such a calamity into an opportunity to do something that will be a great benefit to him, and maybe to all of humanity?”

“If it works,” he says coolly. “If it don’t, you may have sentenced him to a death so agonizing, none of us could bear to even imagine it for our worst enemies.”

“I know that, Thomas,” she says. She falls back into her chair and rests her forehead in the palm of her hand. “But I have to try. I have to. Without resorting to extreme measures, he would have died in torment anyway. At least this way, he will have something to show for all of the pain.”

“You’ll have something to show for it, too.”

“I will,” she says, looking up sharply. “I will be able to rest in the knowledge that I did the very best I could for my patient and my…my friend. If the outbreak at Niefang was any indication, nanite plagues may become a serious and deadly threat to our HEAs, as well as everyone else in the world. But he will never be in danger from this kind of attack again.”

“And what if Voss is playing you, and looking to create something even more horrible than the nanite infection that killed all those villagers? What makes you so willing to trust him?”

“Because I have no other choice. That is why you brought him here in the first place, Thomas. I was not half the scientist he was when it came to biomechanical engineering. My work focused on genetic alteration. The nanites were his creation. I understand them enough to deal with them like a parasitic infection, but I could not counteract the way they had begun to adapt to Gabriel’s enhanced biology. In order to completely reprogram them the way we are attempting to do, I must have Dr. Voss’s assistance. Without it, Gabriel has no chance.”

“How exactly are you reprogramming them? This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

“We are introducing a parasitic nanite infection into the nanites themselves. It’s complicated, but they attach to the replication function and when the new nanites are produced, they follow a different directive. They are able to alter their own function according to Gabriel’s genetic information and to replace his cells as they are damaged. They are acting in place of his natural immune system, attacking the old nanites as foreign agents. It is proceeding very well.”

“How do you stop them from attacking his own cells and replacing them?”

“There is no need. They recognize themselves as native to the body’s systems, so they replace only damaged cells as the body signals the need. They are quite intelligent, for microscopic machines.”

“I know you know what you’re talking about, but give me some leeway for bein’ an old dog who don’t cotton to new tricks. Are you telling me Gabriel has a robotic immune system now?”

“It’s not quite that simple, but yes. For all intents and purposes, he has a biomechanical immune system now. He is the first man in the world to successfully undergo such a treatment.”

“What about Noah?”

“That is another matter,” she says, with a note of disgust creeping in at the edges of her voice. “Those nanites were unlike these. Intended for a very different purpose.”

“He was intended to be a weapon, though, just like Gabriel.”

“No, not like Gabriel at all,” she says shaking her head vehemently. “Noah’s cerebral cortex was dead when Dr. Voss introduced the nanites. His intention was to create intelligent machines, capable of critical thinking and judgment, but devoid of personality and will. Gabriel’s brain is alive and well, and his personality is fully intact. He is a warrior, not a weapon. There is a difference.”

“Noah says his reaction to being approached about his treatment was uncharacteristically violent. Isn’t it possible that these massive changes to his body are effecting his personality?”

“It is more likely that he disliked being confronted by a man he hardly knows regarding a matter that he wished to keep—” she begins icily, but she checks herself. “I apologize, Thomas. I do recall Gabriel becoming irrationally angry with the new recruits over some relatively trivial things lately. It may be that he is in distress from the pain, and is not able to control his emotions as usual. Or it is possible that his brain is not accustomed to handling the change in his hormone levels due to his altered immune system. Either way, I will monitor him for signs of interference with his cognitive functions.”

“Angie, look. I believe you’re doin’ what you think is best for Gabriel,” the Colonel says after a pause. “But I don’t trust Voss any more than I’d trust a fox to guard the henhouse. I have to be a hundred percent certain that you can keep him under control. The damage he could do here is incalculable compared to the petty shit he’s been doing in third world countries. I’ll let this proceed for now. But if I think for a second that there’s anything that ain’t completely kosher, I’ll let Noah snap his withered old neck faster’n you can say Jack Robinson.”

“I understand, Thomas,” she says, rising to depart. She turns back at the door. “Thomas, I am doing my best for Gabriel. I…I care about him. So much more than you know.”

“I know you do, darlin’,” the Colonel smiles. “And I’m glad you’re lookin’ out for him. He’s one of the good ones.”

 


	43. Alpha Prime

Agent Shearwater gazes at Dr. Voss, who is sleeping fitfully on the cot in his cell. It would be so easy a thing, to end the life of this miserable old demon. Far too easy. The doctor should be made to live with his burden of blood, staggering under its weight till it becomes too heavy to bear and crushes him at last. But he must not be allowed to continue to hurt people. To destroy their minds and turn them into senseless tools of slaughter. To strip away their humanity and make them into…things. Noah is not a thing. He is a man. But it took a miraculous feat to bring him back from that hell of black, empty nothingness and restore his humanity. Gabriel is a man, too. He deserves better than this.

He hears the elevator gliding down from the tenth floor and smiles to himself, knowing Lydia is on her way down with tea and biscuits for him. Sweet, lovely Lydia. He likes her immensely. She is in love with him. He knows this as well as he knows that he is not in love with her. But he will not allow her to know it. She is so happy and young, and full of the fresh vitality of a soul unspoiled by years and sorrow. Why would he consent to become a scar on her innocent heart?

He sits and opens his book, conscious of how much she relishes his expression of happy surprise when he lets her think she’s sneaked up on him. He looks up as she comes around the corner, tea and biscuits in hand, and gives her the smile she enjoys.

“Hello there, darling,” she says, planting a kiss on the top of his head. “How’s the old graveyard shift tonight? Anything exciting going on?”

“Voss snorted in his sleep once,” he grins, taking the proffered tea. “So, more exciting than usual. How is everything upstairs? The new recruits doing well?”

“Ah, them. As well as they can be,” she says. She opens the package of biscuits and takes one, then hands him the rest. “They just aren’t…you know…family, yet. Not like the rest of us.”

“They’ll find their places eventually. The more members there are, the longer it takes for a team to become cohesive.”

“You’re so wise tonight,” she laughs. “What have you been reading?”

“Winston Churchill.”

“As usual, then. You are getting dreadfully predictable, my dear. I might begin to be bored of you and take a fancy to someone more exciting.”

“You’d better not,” he says, making his eyes as wide and round as possible. “Then who would bring me snacks when I’m stuck working all night?”

“Cheeky bastard. Give me a kiss,” she says. “I have to go in a minute. I’m meeting Jacky for very late dinner.”

“Lydia, it’s past one in the morning! That’s almost early breakfast!” he exclaims, with mock reproach. “I see what’s going on here. You’re taking a fancy to Jack and trying to distract me with pastries.”

“Is it working?”

“Absolutely,” he says, giving her the requested kiss. “Now go, before I get too jealous and decide not to let you leave.”

“See you later,” she says, smiling sweetly. “Bye, love.”

He sighs as he watches her trot off to meet with her friend. She is so good. It does genuinely make him happy to be with her. Is there really so much more to love than that? He stops this train of thought immediately. He knows where it leads. He has been in love, and has paid dearly for it. He is still paying dearly for it. What he feels for Lydia is nothing close to that love.

“How very interesting,” Dr. Voss’s strident voice says from inside the cell.

Noah turns to look at him. He’s sitting up on his cot and smiling his demon’s smile. The one that used to twist his face when he had dreamed up some particularly cruel torment for the body of the young man who had been Noah.

“Voetsek, jy ou fok,” Noah snaps. “Ek gee nie om wat jy moet sê nie.”

“I wonder,” Voss continues. “Does she know what you were?”

“She knows, Kaspar. No one cares that I was dead but Angela.”

“Dead?” Voss says, his malicious smile broadening. “You are still dead, my boy. What I meant was that—”

“I don’t give a shit what you meant. Shut the fuck up before I shut you up.”

“She might give a shit, as you so charmingly put it,” Voss persists, “to know that her lover was once her father’s lover.”

Noah’s superhuman control of his body is almost enough to suppress any visible reaction to this statement. Almost. Voss catches the nearly-imperceptible tensing of his facial muscles and laughs a dry, craggy laugh.

“I see,” he says, like a raven gloating over a carcass. “You did not know it, either. You did not even know he had a daughter! This is most amusing, Alpha.”

Noah moves to stand before the bars of the cell. He appears to be at ease, but his grey eyes are alight with something fierce and deadly. Something that should give the old doctor pause. It does not.

“All of your enhancements, and you are still so blind when it comes to him.” He removes his spectacles to wipe them with his sleeve. “Perhaps there is more of that dead boy still running through your circuits than I thought.”

With a crack like a gunshot, the heavy locking mechanism on the cell door shudders and buckles in Noah’s hand. The door creaks as it swings lazily open. Voss leaps up and backs away.

“You cannot kill me, Alpha,” he says, trembling with sudden terror of the monster he created. “Your friend Reyes will die without my assistance!”

“I am not going to kill you, Kaspar,” Noah says, advancing slowly toward him. “Death would be a kindness to you.”

“If you do anything to harm me, I will tell her!” Voss chokes, as the steely hand closes around his throat. “I will tell her what you were!”

Noah pushes Voss’s mouth open with his thumb and forefinger. “How will you tell her,” he asks calmly, “when you have no tongue?”

“Alright, that’s enough,” a voice says behind Noah. It is Aleksei’s voice. It doesn’t sound angry, or even particularly concerned, but it is firm. “Let him go, son.”

Noah releases his hold on Voss and steps back. Andreev strolls casually up to the cell and leans against the open door.

“Looks like our prisoner attempted to escape,” he says, glancing around.

“Escape!” Voss sputters angrily. “This fucking tin soldier broke the door down! He meant to murder me!”

Andreev regards him coolly, raising an eyebrow. “Agent Shearwater here says you tried to break loose.” He turns to Noah. “Ain’t that right?”

“The prisoner attempted to escape,” Noah says, still staring at Voss. “I caught him in the act and prevented it.”

“Good work, agent,” Andreev replies. “Keep an eye on him for a minute, would you? I’ll open a new cell for him.”

Once Voss is safely stowed in an undamaged cell, Andreev says he’ll take over for the evening and bids Noah goodnight. Noah shakes his hand gratefully and retreats. There are too many things on his mind now to deal with Voss any longer. Lydia. Lydia is Thomas’s daughter. He knows it to be true, even as his mind struggles to reject and deny it. She is so very like him. How could he not see it? He has been sublimating his unrequited love by trying to force himself to be happy with the man’s own daughter. He shudders. Poor Lydia. It would destroy her to know this. He hopes Commander Andreev will put a proper scare into the old villain. If anyone can shut him up, Aleksei can. Right now, he has other matters to which he must attend.

 

 

Noah approaches Jack and Gabe’s house apprehensively. He stands in the drive for a moment, gazing up at the the warmly lit windows of the second floor. A round-faced, black and white cat blinks lazily down at him from its perch on a windowsill. The porch light is on, and there is a straw mat that says “Welcome” before the door. He doubts this applies to him. At last, he approaches the door and knocks gently. Movement, steps, the door opens.

Gabe stares at him. “Well?”

“Gabriel, I…I wanted to try to explain myself. About the other day. If you’ll let me.”

Gabe steps aside for him to pass through the door, then shuts it behind him. He leads him to the living room, and indicates to the sofa. Noah sits. Gabe takes a seat across from him in an easy chair. The house is mostly dark, but for some candles burning on the mantelpiece. Noah gazes silently at Gabe for a long moment. His luminous grey eyes seem to catch the light from the candles and reflect it like a cat’s eyes. Gabe gets a sudden, strong impression that the man he is looking at is not a man at all, but some kind of machine pretending to be a man. The idea sends a chill up his spine.

“You said you wanted to explain yourself,” he says gruffly. “So explain.”

“Gabriel, I—” Noah begins, then changes course. “Why didn’t you just tell me you knew about what Angela was doing to you?”

“You had no right to know in the first place, Noah,” Gabe replies. “I wasn’t under any obligation to explain myself to you.”

“Is that what made you so agitated? The fact that I knew?”

“I’m not sure,” Gabe says slowly. “I was upset by the fact that you could tell just by being near me. But…I don’t know why it made me so angry. I recall being furious at the time, but the idea doesn’t really make me angry at all, now. That’s strange.”

“It’s not so strange as you think,” Noah says. “I think I know why you reacted that way.”

“Of course you do,” Gabe sighs. “Well? Why?”

“It’s…complicated. Your nanites make you extremely sensitive to the symbiotic nanites in me. If I’m in close enough proximity to you, you can feel them trying to communicate. But yours aren’t the same as mine, so if the signal is too strong, your body processes it as noise and triggers an adrenal response. The increased adrenaline made you react violently.”

“Why can’t I feel them trying to communicate now?” Gabe asks doubtfully.

“I’m not letting them,” Noah says. “I’ve indicated to them that you’re none of their business, and essentially told them to back off.”

“But why can you talk to yours and give them orders that way? I can’t do that.”

“I can’t talk to them,” Noah smiles. “Not with words. I personify them to make them easier to explain, but they don’t really have agency that way. It’s more like, telling your hand to move when you want to pick something up. The fact that you can’t control yours, though, that’s related directly to what I am, as opposed to what you are. It’s the reason I can hear your nanites, but you can’t hear mine.”

“What are you and what am I, then?” Gabe says, growing increasingly frustrated with Noah’s vague responses. “Explain this to me, Noah, because no one told me anything about your situation when I agreed to this treatment. I understood that I was to be the only person to have it done.”

“You are the only person to undergo the specific treatment that you did. I was made for a different purpose. Unlike your nanites, which are intended to work as replacement physical systems only, mine were also a complex neural network. My body was supposed to be something like a blank slate for a super-weapon. Not quite blank, since Voss wanted an intelligent machine capable of critical thinking and making strategic decisions in real-time in combat situations. Only, without the pesky problem of personal autonomy.”

“That’s…fucked up,” Gabe says. “I’m sorry.”

“It is,” Noah says. “And he nearly succeeded. He did succeed, for a while. When I was the machine, I was called Alpha Prime. The control unit for his prototype super-soldiers. That means that my nanites can send control signals to similar networks of nanites in others, dispensing with the need for verbal communication of orders on the battlefield. The others, the Beta units, were actual blank slates, capable only of following orders, and dormant when they were not operating under a directive from me. Since you have your personality and will intact, yours resist the control signal from mine, rather than instantly obeying it. Thus the adrenaline rush you experienced before I’d thought to stop them trying to send you orders. I could’ve overruled the adrenal response, but that would’ve given me a kind of control over you that I’d think it pretty monstrous to exercise.”

“What do you mean, overrule the adrenal response?” Gabe says uneasily. “I don’t particularly like the idea that you can get into my head that way.”

“I don’t blame you,” Noah agrees. “It’s not a very pretty idea. Essentially, I could send your nanites a signal that would override your brain’s signals and force them to obey. But it would be…unpleasant. For you and for me.”

“Unpleasant how?” Gabe asks, not totally convinced that all this about him being able to be controlled like a puppet on strings is true. “Could you show me if I wanted you to?”

“I don’t want to show you, Gabriel,” Noah says, shaking his head. “It would be painful for you and distasteful to me to cause you pain. And to have control of you like that. I have no intention of using this horrible thing that I can do to control another human being.”

Gabe’s curiosity is piqued. This, in combination with his naturally contrary temperament, fills him with the sudden urge to try his will against this so-called control signal.

“But, will you show me?” He asks. “Look, it’s not that I don’t believe you, but this whole thing still sounds like sci-fi nonsense to me.”

“Gabriel, it will be painful,” Noah says gravely. “I don’t want to control you. And I certainly don’t want hurt you.”

“I am telling you that I want you to,” Gabe insists. “How can I hear something like that and not want to know for certain that it’s actually possible?”

“Alright, Gabriel,” Noah says reluctantly. “I suppose it’s only fair that you know exactly what it means to be controlled by your nanites. But don’t be angry with me. I am only doing this because you insist.”

“I won’t.”

“Are you…ready, then?”

“Go for it.”

The instant the words are out of Gabe’s mouth, he begins to feel a prickling sensation all over his body, like the feeling we get in a limb that has “fallen asleep.” The prickling rapidly escalates into an electrical storm of pain. He can feel himself being dragged out of his seat. He groans and claws at the arms of the chair, resisting with his entire strength, but to no avail. He feels his body rise spasmodically from the chair and then take several steps forward. The pain is unbearable. He strains his voice to call out to Noah to stop, but try as he might, he can’t make a sound. Just as he thinks it will certainly kill him, his body is released and the pain abruptly vanishes. He falls shuddering and gasping to the floor.

Noah rushes to his side and lifts him gently onto the sofa, where he kneels beside him with an expression of deep concern on his face. “Gabriel, are you alright?”

“I’m—I’m fine,” Gabe pants, looking up into Noah’s wide grey eyes. “Holy fuck. You weren’t kidding about the pain.”

“I’m sorry. I told you it would be painful. I knew I shouldn’t have done it.”

“No, it’s alright,” Gabe says. “I basically begged you to do it. What a fucking rush, though.”

“A rush?” Noah asks, cocking his head to the side.

“Yeah. My heart is beating a mile a minute,” Gabe laughs, taking Noah’s hand and placing it on his chest. “Feel that? With all the enhancements, there’s not much that gets it going like that anymore.”

“Your heart rate does appear to be seriously accelerated,” Noah says. He glances back at Gabe, then quickly draws his hand away and gets to his feet.

“Hey, Noah,” Gabe says, sitting up. “I’m sorry I flipped out on you the other day. I guess it wasn’t really my fault, but I feel like a total asshole about it, since you were only trying to warn me about something you’d experienced yourself. You’re a good man.”

“Thank you, Gabriel,” Noah smiles. “I think you’re a good man, too.”

At that moment, they both turn to look toward the front door. A few seconds later, Jack and Lydia open it, laughing and talking animatedly. Lydia stops to hang up her coat in the entryway, and Jack enters the living room first.

“Hi, Noah,” Jack says, grinning cheerfully. “Lydia, guess who’s here!”

“Is it an immigration official?” Lydia calls back from entryway. “If so, tell him I’m one-hundred percent Yank now and I won’t go back!” She smiles at Gabe and Noah as she appears around the corner. “Hey babydoll, how’d you get away?”

“I threatened to bring the boss decaf coffee for a week if he didn’t let me go,” Noah says, embracing her briefly. “Jack, I’m sorry to intrude. I wanted to talk to Gabe, so stopped by on my way home.”

“Not at all,” Jack says, heading for the kitchen. “Stay and have a drink with us!”

“We can’t get drunk without really working for it,” Lydia says, “but it’s still fun to try, don’t you think, darling?”

“Absolutely,” Noah smiles down at her.

Gabe follows Jack into the kitchen and wraps his arms around his waist from behind, kissing the back of his neck and greatly interfering with his ability to procure glasses and bottles.

“Hi, honey,” Jack laughs. “I missed you too.” He gives Gabe a kiss, then gently pushes him away. “Out, mister. I’m bartender. What’ll it be, Noah? Lydia’s gonna have gin and tonic, and I’m drinking Gabe’s Don Julio.”

“Tequila, please,” Noah says.

He sits beside Lydia on the sofa and finds his lap immediately invaded by a sleek, purring mass of tuxedo cat. A different one than the one he saw in the window. And another is trotting into the kitchen to investigate what Jack is doing. How many cats do they have?

“How many cats do you have, Commander?” Noah asks, stroking the vibrating furball.

“Well, that’s an interesting story,” Jack replies. He hands Noah a highball glass and takes a seat on the arm of Gabe’s easy chair. “We got a cat from the local shelter, that’s General Stonewall Jackson, the mother of that monster on your lap, and we were told it was an altered male. Well, when we got back from Africa, we thought he’d gotten inordinately fat, but it turned out he was a she and she’d got herself knocked up. No one we knew could take the kittens, and we didn’t want to leave them at that incompetent shelter, so we have six fucking cats now.”

“It works out perfectly, since we have six bedrooms,” Gabe grins. “One per cat. Plus, it gives Marie something to do when we’re not here.”

“But how does she keep the whole place from smelling of cat? That’s what I want to know,” Lydia says, eyeing the plump animal on her male companion’s lap. “My granny had loads of them and they stank like the devil.”

“I have no idea,” Jack says. “I never really liked cats, honestly, and thought it would be a nightmare at first, but you’d never even know they were here.”

“You’d never know it, that is, if they weren’t constantly inserting their opinions into every conversation,” Gabe adds. “They are extremely chatty.”

“What’s this one’s name?” Noah asks.

“That’s Boethius,” Gabe says.

“Are you chatty, Boethius?” Noah says, ruffling the fur on the cat’s head.

Boethius says, “Mrrrah,” and continues to purr contentedly.

“Point made,” Lydia replies. “He says his opinion is just as valid as yours and should be respected, Gabe.”

“Oh does he?” Gabe laughs. “God damned teenagers. Want to have everything their way.”

“I’m with Jacky about cats, though,” Lydia says. “I don’t mind them, but they’re always up to something and never want to tell you what it is.”

“I like them very much,” Noah says. “Johani and I used to give little scraps to the street cats in Cape Town. Some of them would come and snuggle up with us at night, when it was cold. Oh—I’m sorry,” he says, seeing the sudden change of expression on his friends’ faces. “I didn’t mean to be a downer. Sometimes I say things without realizing that they’ll probably be uncomfortable to hear.”

“Nonsense, darling,” Lydia says, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Your life is your life. We don’t mind you speaking frankly about it. It’s just difficult not to compare it to our own lives, and feel sort of…”

“Humbled,” Jack says, finishing her sentence. He fixes Noah with his devastatingly blue eyes. “You have been through things we couldn’t imagine. It’s pretty amazing, what you’ve accomplished despite the trials life put you through.”

“Thank you, Jack,” Noah says, feeling an unexpected flush of warmth in his face. He looks down at the cat to conceal his sudden embarrassment. “It—it’s really nothing to be proud of. It was just the way things were.”

Gabe observes this unguarded reaction and feels a stab of something ugly and acrid. Something he has never felt in the years he and Jack have been together. Jealousy.

“It really is, though,” Jack persists, unaware of his lover’s discomfiture. “I mean, we all had it so easy, Gabe and Lydia and I. You’ve lived a remarkable life, for—” he breaks off, laughing. “I was going to say for someone your age. It’s hard to remember you’re not actually younger than me.”

“It’s that baby face of yours, darling,” Lydia croons, stroking Noah’s cheek. “You’re so pretty you made Jacky forget you’re an old man.”

Noah flushes an even deeper crimson, which elicits a merry laugh from two of his companions.

“I can’t believe I still blush like a little girl at my age,” he says, grinning sheepishly. “It’s so embarrassing.”

“It’s ridiculously charming,” Lydia says. “Don’t you agree, guys?”

“I’m not going to be part of that, Lydia,” Jack says staunchly, raising his glass. “We blushers shouldn’t live in fear of being shamed by our friends! We should be proud that we can turn all different shades of pink at the drop of a hat. It’s a rare talent.”

“Hear, hear,” Lydia chimes in jovially, raising her glass as well. “To blushers!”

“If you white people are going to be toasting your skin tones all night, I’m going to need another drink,” Gabe says, taking his empty glass into the kitchen.

“You still ok with tequila, Noah?” Jack says, hopping up from his chair. “Don’t get up. I’ll bring the bottle in here.”

Lydia leans over and kisses Noah’s cheek while Jack and Gabe are occupied in the kitchen. He smiles back and squeezes her hand, but she immediately senses that there is something _off_ about his response. In fact, there’s something not quite right about his whole demeanor. She wonders vaguely what could be bothering him. But they can talk about it later. Right now they are having a lovely time with her best friends. Best not to spoil it by worrying about what is likely nothing.

Two full bottles of tequila and most of a bottle of gin later, Jack and Lydia have entered the swaying, giggly stage of intoxication. Noah and Gabe, however, cannot get drunk, no matter how much alcohol they consume. The nanites in their bodies recognize recreational intoxicants as the same as any other type of poisonous substance, and helpfully negate any effect their host may hope to gain from their consumption.

Jack has gradually made his way down to the floor, enticed by several purring cats and the drunken compulsion to lie on any flat surface that happens to be handy at the moment. In the spirit of being companionable (and because she is very drunk, too), Lydia flops onto the floor beside Jack. She sticks out her hand and tousles his blonde hair affectionately.

“You guys are so…awesome,” she slurs sleepily. “I just think you’re…you’re my favorite people that there are, you know?”

“No, you are,” Jack mumbles, barely coherent. “Gabe, tell Lydia she thinks you’re awesome. There’s—fuck. There’s a cat on me.” He laughs giddily, rocking the cat to and fro on his stomach. “Who else is covered in cats? Raise your hand.”

“I’ve got one on my legs,” Lydia says mournfully. “Which is tragic, cause I have to piss quite badly. Help me, Noah, I’ll be trapped forever!”

Noah gets up and gently ejects the hefty feline, this one named Harriet Tubman, from its station on Lydia’s knees. The cat gives a warble of protest, then hops onto the coffee table to lick its paws indignantly.

“That’s what you get, Tubs,” Lydia says, patting its head and stumbling off up the stairs.

Noah resumes his seat on the sofa and gazes at the ceiling, listening to be sure she doesn’t fall and hurt herself.

“Why’d she go upstairs to use the bathroom?” Gabe asks. “There are two down here.”

Jack drags himself onto the sofa, looking up at the ceiling, too. “She’s in the guest room!” he laughs. “She’s gonna piss in the guest room, Gabe!”

“I better go make sure everything’s ok up there,” Gabe says, rising to follow Lydia upstairs.

Jack and Noah are silent for a moment. Noah glances at Jack, to find that those impossibly blue eyes are fixed on him again.

“Sorry,” Jack says, with an embarrassed chuckle. “I was just…I just… No, I don’t know what I was just. Fuck, I am so drunk. You must think I’m such an idiot.”

“No, I don’t think that,” Noah says. “We’re having a good time. It’s ok to have fun once in a while.”

Jack tries to look away, but he can’t take his eyes off the beautiful young man sitting on the sofa beside him. His throat is suddenly dry and hot. He swallows hard. “I…I think you better take Lydia home. She’s pretty wasted. Unless you’re too drunk to—”

“I’m not drunk, Jack,” Noah says.

Before Jack can process what is happening, Noah’s soft, warm mouth is covering his. He gasps and groans in his throat as Noah’s tongue finds his, the solid weight of his body pressing him back into the sofa. Jack is suddenly keenly aware of Noah’s immense physical strength. Against his will, he is immediately, achingly hard. He tries to stop his hands, but they are already sliding up under Noah’s shirt, grasping him and pulling him closer. Jack’s stomach flips and his head whirls. He hasn’t wanted anyone but Gabe for years and years. He _doesn’t_ want anyone but Gabe. He loves Gabe.

“No!” Jack hisses under his breath, abruptly disengaging from the kiss. “No! This can’t happen, Noah!”

With more force than is strictly necessary, he shoves Noah away from him and struggles unsteadily to his feet. Noah stands up effortlessly and with much more grace.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” he says quietly, lowering his long, black eyelashes. “I thought you wanted me to kiss you.”

“I’m—I should be sorry,” Jack says, stumbling drunkenly over his words. “I shouldn’t have…I mean, I should have stopped you before I let it get that far. It was my fault.”

They both look up again, hearing a toilet flush, followed by a yelp and a crash, followed by Lydia’s laughter. A moment later, Gabe comes stalking down the stairs with Lydia slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“She fell into a decorative vase coming out of the bathroom,” Gabe says. “Lucky for her, it’d take a lot more than that to cause her any injury.”

“ _She_ can hear you, Gabriel,” Lydia pipes up, kicking her feet. “And _she_ demands to be put down this instant!”

“I told you I wasn’t going to put you down till you were sober enough to be trusted to walk,” Gabe says.

“But everyone will see my pants!” she pouts, kicking some more.

“You’re wearing jeans, not a skirt, you little demon,” Gabe says. “Noah, I believe this belongs to you?”

Noah grins and holds out his arms to accept his intoxicated sweetheart. “I’d better take her home before she destroys any more of your property. Thank you for the lovely evening, gentlemen.”

“Thank you for the lovely—gentlemen,” Lydia hiccups, sending Jack into a fit of giggles as he and Gabe escort their guests to the door.

“Goodnight, Lydia,” Gabe smiles. “Goodnight, Noah.”

“Bye guys! Love you!” Lydia calls back, as Noah carries her down the steps.

“Gabe,” Jack says, throwing his arms around Gabe’s neck. “Let’s get married. No more fucking around. I want to be married to you.”

“Ok, baby,” Gabe laughs, kissing Jack’s upturned face. “When?”

“Tomorrow,” Jack says. “Let’s fly out to Cedar Rapids and take mom and Moll and Joe and go to a justice of the peace. We don’t need a stupid wedding and all that complicated shit. I just want to be your husband.”

“Jack…you’re serious,” Gabe says. “What brought this on so suddenly?”

“I just—I’m very lucky to have you,” Jack says, tears starting in his brilliant blue eyes. “I don’t want to take this for granted anymore. I want to marry you.”

“Ok,” Gabe says. He laughs again and kisses Jack’s forehead and lips. “Ok, let’s do it. Let’s get married.”

“I love you so much, Gabe,” Jack sighs, laying his head on Gabe’s chest.

“I love you, too, Jack.”

 


	44. Till Death

“I, Jack, take you, Gabriel, to be my lawfully wedded husband. To have and to hold, from this day forward. For better or for worse. For richer or for poorer. In sickness and health. Till death do us part.”

“I, Gabriel, take you, Jack, to be my lawfully wedded husband. To have and to hold, from this day forward. For better or for worse. For richer or for poorer. In sickness and health. Till death do us part.”

“With this ring, I thee wed,” Jack says, sliding the heavy platinum band over Gabe’s ring finger.

“With this ring, I thee wed,” Gabe repeats, placing the corresponding band on Jack’s ring finger.

“By the power vested in me by the state of Iowa, I now pronounce you joined in marriage,” the justice says solemnly. “You may kiss your husband.”

Gabe hooks his arm around Jack’s waist, gazing down into his dazzling blue eyes. He hesitates for a moment, desiring to capture the image mentally and lock it away forever, never to be forgotten in its minutest detail. Then he leans down and gently touches his lips to those of the man he loves more than life. A tear springs from his eye and rolls down his face. Jack laughs and brushes it away.

“Oh, come on, Gabe!” Molly exclaims through her own happy tears. “He’s your husband now! Really get in there!”

“Molly, you bad girl,” Jack’s mother scolds, dabbing her cheeks with a handkerchief. “Let them be.”

Jack takes Gabe’s face in his hands and kisses him again. A deep, tender kiss, freighted with all the emotion and significance of the moment. Molly and Joe cheer and Jack’s mother beams. Phineas breaks free of his grandmother’s grasp and runs up to Jack and Gabe with his chubby little arms outstretched.

“Now me! Now me!” he demands, hopping up and down.

Jack catches him up and he and Gabe plant kisses on his round cheeks. Phineas make his eyes wide as possible and exclaims, “Oh boy!”

Even the solemn justice laughs at this, and then the merry party makes their way out of the courthouse amid as much warm, familial jubilation as they would have had at a large, traditional wedding. Outside the courthouse, hand in hand, Jack and Gabe follow their joyful, chattering family to the massive black SUV awaiting them in the parking lot. It has been bedecked with the customary wedding regalia of tin cans tied to the bumper with balloon ribbon and window paint proclaiming “Just Married” (with a little addition from Molly reading “Just Gay Married” on the back windshield).

Joe hops into the driver’s seat and starts the vehicle as Molly straps Phineas into his car seat. When they are all loaded in, they drive away in the brilliant afternoon sun to celebrate the way Jack has insisted: with a family dinner at home.

“It was really nice of Ashley to loan us the tank for this,” Jack says. “I hope she didn’t mind you painting all over it.”

“Are you kidding?” Molly replies. “She helped me do it. The ‘Just Gay Married’ joke was her idea!”

“She shouldn’t encourage you like she does,” Jack’s mother says. “You two are twice as mischievous when you’re around each other.”

“Mom was hoping that having another responsible mother-type living at the house would be a good influence on me,” Molly says to Jack. “But I’ve already ruined her. She says swear words now and everything.”

“As long as you don’t get her to start smoking,” Jack’s mother chides. “She can swear a blue streak for all I care.”

“I’m glad to hear Ashley’s fitting in so well with you guys,” Jack smiles. “Who knew she and Molly would be best friends one day.”

“Oh, they argue like an old married couple,” Joe interjects. “You should hear them going toe-to-toe over the kids’ dietary habits.”

“Ok, hang on,” Molly says. “I was right about that. A little bit of candy now and then isn’t going to turn them into IV drug users. Jack, help me out here!”

“I’m not getting involved,” Jack says. “I know better than to get between mama bears when their cubs are concerned.”

“Traitor,” Molly says, punching Jack in the arm.

“Mommmmm! Molly hit me!” Jack calls out, catching his sister in headlock.

“You two cut that shit out or I’ll turn this tank around,” Joe says, eyeing the miscreant siblings in the rearview mirror.

“Yeah, Gabe,” Molly says, breaking free of Jack’s hold. “Control your husband, why don’t you.”

“What?” Jack exclaims. “You started it! She started it!”

“I’ll discipline him later,” Gabe grins, wrapping his arm around Jack and squeezing him tightly. “Don’t you worry.”

Jack blushes to the ears and Molly feigns shock at her mother’s laughter.

“Mom! You are a Christian woman! I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Oh, give it a rest, Molly,” her mother retorts. “I’m not a nun. It’s not like I don’t know you all have sex.”

“Dear sweet baby jesus,” Molly groans, laying a hand over her eyes. “My mother just said the s-word! What has become of this family!”

“Sex!” Phineas proclaims joyfully, kicking his little legs and hurling a toy to the floor.

“See mother? You’re corrupting the youth,” Molly says.

Jack retrieves the toy and winks at Phineas, who grins delightedly and tosses it down again.

“His first complete sentence contained the f-word, Molly,” Joe says. “I don’t think your mother is the one corrupting the youth.”

“He’s been teaching Ashley’s kids to swear,” Molly says in an undertone, elbowing Jack. “I’ve never been so proud.”

“I heard that!” Joe says. “You’re cruisin’ for a time out, young lady!”

“Time out, mama!” Phineas repeats, pointing an accusing finger at Molly.

As they are about to pull into the driveway of the Morrison family home, Jack notices that Gabe has begun to look rather agitated.

“Hey, you ok?” Jack asks, squeezing his hand.

“I’m fine,” Gabe says, avoiding Jack’s eye. “I’m just a little tired.”

They pile out of the vehicle and go to the door, but before Jack can open it, Gabe arrests him in a crushing embrace.

“Jack, listen,” he says, in an anxious tone. “Don’t be mad.”

“Mad? What are you talking about?” Jack asks, pulling away to look up at him.

Gabe takes a deep breath and swings the door open. Jack is instantly drowned in a deluge of voices, all cheering “Congratulations!” and the like. He stares dumbfounded on exultant the faces of their friends, who have appeared as if by magic in his mother’s house. The Colonel and Commander Andreev, Lydia, Min-Ji, Temple, Miller, and last but certainly not least, the monumental Lanier, standing a full foot above everyone else, with Colette and Gabby by his side. Jack has to quickly turn his head to hide the tears that fill his eyes.

Gabe takes his hands and kisses them. “Is this ok?” he asks apprehensively. “I know you said you just wanted a family dinner, but…”

“But they’re all family. Of course it’s ok, Gabe,” Jack laughs. “You fucking sneaky fuck, though. Is this why you stalled the trip for a week? To get everyone out here?”

“Yep,” Gabe smiles wickedly.

“I know my sister was involved, too. You’re a dead man, Molly!”

“I think that means he’s happy to see us,” the Colonel says, looking around at the assembled guests. He marches up to Jack and Gabe and shakes their hands warmly. “Congratulations, kids. Now, let’s get these people properly liquored up, huh?”

Lydia and Min-Ji follow the Colonel, embracing and kissing them both effusively, then moving off to allow them time with all their guests. Gabe immediately gravitates to the Laniers and spends most of the evening with Gabby in his arms. After a while, Jack slips quietly down to the basement, intending to go outside for a while, to escape the noise and clear his head. Just as he is opening the back door, he hears a sound coming from the basement bedroom. It sounds like someone crying. It’s a woman. He hesitates for a moment, and then knocks softly. The crying stops abruptly. He hears sniffling.

“Come in?” a shaky voice says.

He opens the door and steps into the bedroom.

“Ashely,” he says, in surprise. “No one told me you were here. I thought you were out with the kids somewhere”

“Oh, hey,” she says, hastily wiping the tears from her face. “No, they’re with a friend from the babysitting co-op. I didn’t mean to hide from you down here, it’s just—I was just—”

She breaks down crying afresh. Jack grabs a box of tissues from the under the bathroom sink and sits beside her on the edge of the bed. She takes them, smiling gratefully through her tears. He is awed by the change in her appearance. Her hair is cut extremely short in a pixie style that wouldn’t work for many women, but her thin, delicate features wear it well. She’s stopped dyeing her hair that brassy red and allowed the natural dark brown to come back, too. She looks older, but this is a good thing. Her severity is beginning to soften into a classic, Audrey Hepburn kind of beauty.

She looks up at him timidly. “What is it? Do I have mascara all down my face?”

“No,” he says softly. “Ashley, you’re…you’re beautiful.”

She shakes her head and looks at the floor. “No, I’m not. You don’t have to say that.”

“You are, though. And you should know it.”

“Thanks, Johnny,” she sniffles. “Congratulations, by the way. Sorry I’m in here having my own pity party. I just didn’t want to ruin yours, you know?”

“It must be hard for you to be around all this right now.”

“Yeah. I know he—he died a long time ago. But the grief is still pretty fresh to me.”

“It hasn’t been that long, Ash.” Jack says, taking her hand. “It’s ok that it still hurts. Don’t beat yourself up too bad, ok?”

“Ok,” she says, smiling up at him through her tears. “I’m really happy for you. I mean it, Johnny. Shit, you go by Jack now. God I’m such an ass.”

“I always went by Jack, Mushley,” he grins. “You’re the only person on earth who ever called me Johnny.”

“You got the entire football team to call me Mushley, though,” she says. “All through Junior year. Ugh, I wanted to kill you!”

“Hey, you can’t blame me for wanting a little revenge for the Johnny thing.”

She sighs. “You were…never really happy with me, were you.”

“I was never really happy at all,” Jack replies. “That wasn’t your fault. But I am now. You know, now that I’m not bottling up everything I hated about myself and constantly stewing in it till it boils over at inappropriate moments.”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good thing,” she says. “So you’re…you’re really…”

“Gay?”

“Yeah, that,” she laughs. “Thanks. I didn’t know how to put it.”

“Well, Gabe says I’m bisexual. I told him I don’t know how he figures that, since I only sleep with him, but that’s what he says.”

“Because you used to be with women?”

“No, he did, too, and he considers himself to be gay. I think it’s because I’m still attracted to women sometimes, whereas he is not at all. And I functioned perfectly fine with women, when I was with them. He didn’t.”

“That all sounds kind of complicated, John—Jack. Sorry.”

“You can call me Johnny,” he says, smiling cheerfully. “I kind of like it now. Like a little inside joke between just the two of us. And it’s not that complicated. I love Gabe and he loves me. That’s pretty much all there is to it.”

“Johnny it is,” she says, returning the smile. “How did you…you know, figure it out? That you were into guys?”

“I was always attracted to people of both genders. Or, let me rephrase. On the rare occasion that I was interested in someone, gender wasn’t an issue. I only dated women, though, because I was too shit-terrified to admit I was attracted to men. Then I met Gabe and everything else just…went out the window. I think I was in love with him before I even knew his first name.”

“That sounds…amazing. I’m so happy for you. And I’m—I’m glad we can talk like this now. I was horrible to you. And to Molly. But she and your mom have been so kind to me. I don’t know what I’d have done without them.”

“They’re pretty great,” Jack says. “Molly doesn’t say it, but I can tell she really cares about you. Plus it’s good for her to have another cool young mom around.”

“You think I’m a cool young mom?” she laughs again. “Molly would disagree with you there. She thinks I’m a child abuser because I don’t want them eating candy all day.”

“Nope, I already told Molly I’m not going to stick my nose in that hornet’s nest!” Jack says, holding up his hands. “You parental types work that out yourselves.”

“Do you think you and Gabe will have kids one day?”

“I don’t know about that. Our jobs are pretty unpredictable. We’re already neglecting our cats terribly, so I can’t imagine how we’d handle an actual human child. Though Molly has offered to surrogate for us like, a hundred times.”

“Would you want her to do that?”

“I kind of think it would be weird,” Jack says, wrinkling his nose. “I mean, she’s my sister. Plus it’d be her first pregnancy, so there’s all the extra risk and that kind of thing.”

“Well, I’ve got a healthy, veteran uterus and two perfect kids to prove it. So, if you’re ever seriously considering it, I’d be more than willing to help.”

“Ashley…fuck,” Jack says. “Wow. I…I don’t know what to say. That’s incredibly kind of you.”

“Well, I mean it, Johnny,” she says, squeezing his hand. “I always wanted to have your gorgeous babies anyway. You know that.”

“They would be gorgeous, wouldn’t they,” Jack says, running his hand through his hair and striking a pose. “I’ve been told that I’m ‘hot,’ you know.”

“By your hot husband, I hope,” Ashley says, giggling at his absurd play of preening.

“He is, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. No lie, Johnny, when I saw you guys at the park that one day, I almost tripped over my own feet checking him out. Then I saw you two kissing and…well, you know. I didn’t get a chance to say anything when you were here last, but…I was in a really bad place then. Mike was drinking a lot and I was miserable all the time. I’m sorry you got the shrapnel from that. And right before your dad died, too. I think that was when I realized I needed to take a serious look at myself.”

“What happened with Mike?” Jack asks gently. “I understand if you don’t want talk about it, though.”

“No, it’s ok. I’ve been making a lot of progress with my therapist and I’m able to talk about it now. He lost all our savings gambling, then he started embezzling money from his dad’s contracting company. Then they got notified that they were going to be audited by the IRS, and he realized it was all going to come out. I think that’s why he did it. He just couldn’t face up to it.”

“I’m so sorry, Ashley. That’s awful.”

“It was, but I’m…moving on with my life now. I hate to say it, but we’re probably better off without him. He was drunk all the time and Indigo was getting old enough to start asking why daddy was so angry when he came home from work. Luckily Madison was too young to remember any of it. Of course, we lost the house to the collectors after he died. Plus all my jewelry. But I don’t miss those things, anyway. Besides, I think living here with your mom has been the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And the kids. She’s been like a mother to me, Johnny. The good kind that bakes cookies and makes you clean up after yourself and doesn’t show up drunk as a skunk to your high school graduation with a 25-year-old boyfriend on her arm.”

“Holy shit, I totally forgot about that. Your mom did do that, didn’t she.”

“Yep. That was mom. I’m just glad she fucked off to Arizona or whatever and I don’t have to deal with her shit anymore.”

“My god, Ashley. I had all this resentment toward you for being a part of this whole…social structure I felt like I got forced into, but I never had any sympathy for what you were going through. I was so cruel to you.”

“You…you really were,” she says, tears starting in her eyes again. “I was so angry at you for so long, Johnny. You have no idea what it means to me to hear you acknowledge it like this.”

He wraps his arms around her and lets her cry as he sits silent, thinking back on the incidents of their high-school years.

“Like when your mom threw you out that one time and I wouldn’t let you come over here,” he says. “And when she beat you up and broke your nose, and I told you that you should’ve called the cops instead of me. Christ. I was such a fucking prick, Ashley. Why did you stay with me?”

“Because you were the hottest guy at the whole school, and the only guy who wasn’t just trying to fuck me. Remember that rumor that went around freshman year, before we started going out, that I was slut that gave head at the drop of a hat? And everyone called me ‘Easy-A’ for like six months?”

“Yeah. I mean, I remember it now.”

“Yeah, well it turns out those kind of rumors are harder to live down than you think.”

“You were so popular when we started dating, though. Everyone liked you.”

“No, everyone was afraid of me. You included.”

“Well, yes, I was a little afraid of you. But you had a ton of friends. You ruled that place like a queen.”

“Oh, please. I hated all those people just as much as you did. I just had the brains not to let them know it. And to keep you from letting them know you hated them, too.”

“You did, didn’t you,” Jack says, increasingly astonished by how inaccurately he has been remembering his time in high school.

It seems to him now, in retrospect, that all those things about Ashley that he took to be domineering and controlling had been her way of shielding him socially. Protecting him from his inclination to be sarcastic and superior, and defending his position in the ruthless social hierarchy of a middle-American high school, as well as her own.

“Ashley, I honestly thought that all that time, you were just making me miserable because you enjoyed it. I’ve been such an idiot, I can’t even believe it.”

“You’re not totally wrong, though. It’s not that I enjoyed it, exactly. I just…needed to control something in my life, you know? Our relationship was something I could control. I mean, until you fucked me and then left me sobbing alone in a hotel room on prom night.”

“Yeah…I did do that,” he says, wincing. “I’m sorry about that, too. I wish I’d handled that differently.”

“Look, Johnny, we both have a lot of things we could say that about. But it’s not going to do us any good sitting here regretting the past and wishing we could change it. How about we agree right now to forget all that bullshit and move forward with our lives.” She holds out her hand. “Friends?”

“I’d like that,” Jack says, taking her hand and shaking it heartily. “Friends.”

“Good. You should probably get back to the party. People will wonder where you are.”

“Yeah, I guess I should. Come up with me, though. I want to introduce you to my friends from work.”

“Oh, I met everyone already! I’ll have you know I helped Molly coordinate this little shindig. I’m totally crushing on that gorgeous black guy with the shaved head, by the way. I think his name is Ezra.”

“Oh really?” Jack says, raising an eyebrow. “You like Temple, do you? Well, I just so happen to know he’s single. But he works with us in Virginia, so you’ve only got a couple of days to make it happen.”

“I don’t know,” she says nervously. “It’s been so long since I’ve been with anyone. What would I even say to him?”

“Say?” Jack laughs. “It _has_ been a long time, hasn’t it. He’s a man, sweetheart. Smack his ass and tell him to get downstairs and fuck you before you change your mind.”

“Johnny!” she says, blushing like a rose. Then after a pause, “Do you really think that would work?”

“I know it would. You’re a beautiful woman, Ashley. Come on. I’ll break the ice and then leave you two to get acquainted.”

“Yeah, ok. What the hell,” she grins. “Let’s go. And…thank you for talking to me, Johnny. It really means a lot to me.”

 

Upstairs, Gabe has detached himself from Gabby for the moment, and is in the kitchen mixing a cocktail.

“Hey there, old married man,” Lydia says, sidling up and nudging him with her elbow. “How’s the ball and chain treating you?”

“Well, I’ve been married for exactly five hours, and I’ve seen my husband for less than two of those,” he laughs. “So, I’ll tell you after I actually get to be with him. Speaking of ball and chain, where’s Noah?”

“Oh, he didn’t come with us,” she says, attempting to appear nonchalant. “Someone had to stay behind and mind the house while we’re all away.”

“Hey, are you alright?” Gabe asks, noting the tension in her jaw and the paleness of her skin. “Did something happen?”

“It’s not a big deal, really. We, uh…we broke up. Last week. Pretty much right after we left your house, actually. I mean, it was the next day, but I knew it was going to happen that entire night.”

“Oh Lydia,” Gabe says, embracing her sympathetically. “That’s terrible! I’m so sorry. I thought—” He pauses, unable to continue his sentence. It wouldn’t be honest to say he thought they were happy together. Not knowing what occurred between Jack and Noah that night, while he was upstairs attending to her. “—I’m really sorry, Lydia. How are you doing?”

“Oh, you know. Drowning my sorrows in gin like a good Englishman. But don’t worry about me. Tonight is all about you and your new husband. Where is Jacky, anyway?”

At that moment, Jack strolls up to the counter with an impish grin on his face.

“There you are,” Gabe says. “I was just about to come looking for you. What’s that evil smile for? What are you up to?”

“Just helping my ex girlfriend get laid,” Jack says, leaning on the counter. He indicates to Ashley, who is in the living room engaged in lively conversation with Agent Temple.

“Oh, is that why you’re looking so cat-that-got-the-canary,” Lydia says. “You men are always so pleased with the idea of people having sex. Even when you’re not going to be involved.”

“I’m a lot more pleased with it when I _am_ going to be involved,” Gabe says. “But I’m glad someone is helping Ashley out. That is a woman who badly needs a good, hard fucking.”

“Well, I’m sure Ezra will be happy to oblige her,” Lydia laughs. “But don’t be crass, Gabe. She’s got as much right to be interested in sex as anyone has.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I’m just not a big fan of Ashley.”

“I hope it’s not on my account,” Jack says. “We had a long talk just now and we’ve agreed to forget the past and be friends. So you have to be her friend, too, Gabe.”

“Oh, I do, do I?”

“Yep. You’re my husband now. You have to obey me.”

“They took that ‘obey’ thing out of the vows a long time before men could marry each other, baby.”

“Well, you have to do as I say anyway,” Jack retorts. “I’ve decided.”

“You see this, Lydia? Married for less than a day and he’s already abusing his spousal authority.”

“Marriage has nothing to do with it,” Lydia says. “Jacky owned your ass already and you know it.”

“Well, I can’t argue with you there,” Gabe says, wrapping his arms around Jack.

“God damn right, I did,” Jack grins. “And I intend to keep you. That part _was_ in the vows. Till death, Gabriel. Don’t you forget it.”

“I won’t, Jack.”

 


	45. Satan

Since Jack and Gabe won’t have time to have any honeymoon to speak of, Jack’s mother has booked them a suite at a quaint little bed and breakfast a couple of miles away, so they can at least enjoy their wedding night in privacy. After dinner has been served and devoured, and the guests are comfortably tipsy, they call a cab. As is customary, the newly-wedded pair depart amid the cheers of their family and friends.

Jack rests his head on Gabe’s chest, and they spend the cab ride to the hotel holding hands and enjoying the silence together. They arrive at the Belmont Hill Bed and Breakfast, a converted Victorian house somewhat similar to their own, and are shown up to their suite with cheerful alacrity. They strip off their stiff, close-fitting jackets and trousers (Gabe had insisted upon bespoke suits for their wedding) and Jack lounges on his stomach on the bed, reading the room-service menu while Gabe hangs up their clothing.

“You are so irresponsible with your clothes, Jack,” he says. “It’s unbelievable that you ever have anything to wear at all.”

“The reason either of us has anything to wear is because Marie _is_ responsible with our clothes,” Jack replies. “You leave yours all over the place too, Gabe. You just don’t notice when you do it.”

“Oh, is that right?” Gabe says. He climbs over Jack and kisses the back of his neck. “Maybe she deserves a raise, then. Did you enjoy yourself tonight, baby?”

“It was absolutely perfect,” Jack says with a happy sigh. “It was such a thoughtful thing you did, surprising me with everyone from work being there. Well, everyone but Angela and Noah.”

“I invited them. Though, to be honest, I didn’t expect either of them would be likely to come.”

“I would’ve thought Angela would come, now that you two have become so friendly. I’m not so surprised about Noah, though. You know, after the…incident.”

“That’s probably part of it,” Gabe says. “And wanting to avoid Lydia. Did you know they broke up?”

“Oh, no! I had no idea. When?”

“The next day, I guess.”

“Poor Lydia. I hope it wasn’t because of what—”

“I doubt it, baby. I think him kissing you and him breaking it off with Lydia were both symptoms of the same problem.”

“What problem?”

“That he’s gay and he shouldn’t have been with her in the first place.”

“You think everyone’s gay, honey.”

“Well, Jack, I mean—the man kissed my husband. I think you have to give me this one.”

“I wasn’t your husband then,” Jack says, grinning wickedly. “Maybe he was trying to steal me away before we made things legal.”

“I wouldn’t blame him,” Gabe says. He lies down behind Jack and wraps his arms around him. “You’re quite a catch. But I didn’t like him taking advantage of you like that, when you were too drunk to know what was going on.”

“I wasn’t that drunk,” Jack says. “I mean, I was. But it’s not like I was catatonic or anything. I had the presence of mind to stop him.”

“And you didn’t kiss him back? Even just a little?” Gabe says, poking Jack’s ribs playfully.

Jack flushes crimson. “I—maybe for a second or two. But he surprised me! No one but you has ever tried anything like that with me. I didn’t know how to react.”

Gabe laughs and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it so much, Jack. I’d probably have done the same thing. He’s a very attractive man.”

“He’s not…that attractive,” Jack says, shifting uncomfortably.

“It’s ok to admit he’s a good-looking guy. And maybe you were a little…flattered by it.”

“Flattered by it?” Jack says indignantly. “He stuck his tongue in my mouth on our living room couch. With you right there in the house!”

“I’m fucking with you, baby,” Gabe laughs. “To tell you the truth, I noticed something when we were all talking. He kept giving you those big doe-eyes and blushing whenever you looked at him. And I have to admit I was a little jealous. But Jack, listen to me. I am not threatened by Noah. I know you’re all mine, ok?”

“Good. But no more teasing me about it, I’m serious. I was really upset by the whole thing. And now he’s broken up with Lydia and…I just don’t feel comfortable about any of it.”

“What did he say when you talked to him about it?”

“He apologized, obviously,” Jack says. “But he—” He hesitates, frowning and looking away.

“What is it, Jack?”

“He—he said he never intended things to go further between him and me without…”

“Without what?”

“Without…you being involved.”

“Wait, what?”

“He said that he approached me because he thought the two of us might be interested in…in…”

“He thought we would be interested in…having sex with him? Together?”

“I know! He’s out of his mind, right?”

“Yeah,” Gabe says distractedly. “That’s a pretty ridiculous idea.”

“Gabe,” Jack says, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not so sure you really think it’s as ridiculous as you’re saying.”

“Of course I do,” Gabe says. “Why do you say that?”

“You are very erect, Gabe,” Jack laughs, shifting his body against Gabe’s rigid cock.

“I am very erect, my love, because I am lying naked in bed with my extremely sexy husband.”

Gabe strokes Jack’s side and begins to kiss a line down his neck.

“Gabe…is that something you’d be interested in? Us having sex with another person?”

“Of course not, baby. It was a highly inappropriate thing for him to suggest.”

Jack pauses for a moment. Then he says, “Would you be upset if it were something…I might be interested in trying?”

“Upset…? No, not really. A little hesitant, maybe, but not upset. Is that something you would want to do?”

“I’m not sure,” Jack says slowly. “Noah is an attractive man. Not to mention he knows all about our augmentations, so there’d be nothing to worry about in that respect. And he strikes me as the type of person who could be discreet and professional about it…”

“I think you’ve been thinking about this more than you let on, you naughty boy,” Gabe says, sliding his hand down Jack’s taut abdomen.

“Not—ah—not Noah, specifically,” Jack breathes, as Gabe’s hand moves up and down the shaft of his cock. “But I have a…a fantasy about—ah! Fuck…”

“About what,” Gabe purrs in Jack’s ear. “Tell me, cariño.”

“I—I…in my fantasy you are—ungh—you are fucking me from behind and…ah—”

“And?” Gabe says, stroking harder. “I’m fucking you, and…?”

“And—ah! You’re making me…making me suck another man’s cock while you—fuck!—while you fuck me.”

“Mmmm,” Gabe growls approvingly. “Would you like that? Being fucked in your mouth and your ass at the same time?”

He moves down and begins to flick and tease the swollen head of Jack’s cock with his tongue. Jack shudders and moans, pushing up with his hips.

“Ye—ah! Yes!”

“Tell me.”

“I—I want you to fuck me while another man fucks my—my mouth,” he pants. “Fuck me right now, Gabe. Fuck me!”

Gabe straddles Jack’s chest and pushes his hard cock into his open mouth. Jack licks and sucks it feverishly.

“I’m going to come in your mouth,” Gabe says. “Show it to me before you swallow it.”

Jack stares up into Gabe’s fiery black eyes as he drives himself into his mouth. His thrusts grow rapid and irregular, then he pushes his cock into the back of Jack’s throat and holds it there. It throbs in Jack’s mouth, filling it with viscous, salty fluid. He draws back and Jacks gazes up at him, mouth open wide, just as he has been told.

“Swallow it now,” Gabe says. “Mmmm. Good boy.”

He pushes Jack’s legs apart and begins to work him open with his thumbs. Jack groans and grips the bedsheets tightly. He feels strong, spit-slicked fingers penetrating him, moving in and out, preparing him to be fucked. The swollen, slippery head of Gabe’s cock pushes abruptly through the resistance at the opening of his asshole. Jack cries out and arches his back. Gabe’s thick, rigid shaft beats against his prostate in a steady, staccato rhythm, driving him headlong toward his climax, like a perfectly engineered racing vehicle. The crash is spectacular. Jack comes so hard he sees stars, moaning hoarsely as his ejaculation spurts all over his stomach. He feels Gabe’s cock convulsing inside him. He’s come twice, but he’s still rock hard, still fucking him.

“I want you to come on my cock again,” Gabe says.

“I—I can’t,” Jack says, shaking his head. “I can’t.”

“I mean I am going to _make_ you come on my cock again. Is that more clear?”

Jack nods. His cock is swelling already, as if in response to Gabe’s command. Gabe pulls out abruptly and lies on the bed.

“Ride me. I want to look at you while I fuck you.”

Jack is slick and dripping as he lowers himself onto Gabe’s hard cock. Gabe grabs his ass with both hands and pulls himself up. He puts his mouth on Jack’s cock, sucking and fucking him at the same time. Jack’s head lolls back, giddy and delirious with the dueling sensations.

“Gabe,” he gasps. “I’m gonna—I’m gonna come again…fuck—fuck me!”

Gabe lifts him off the bed with powerful, driving thrusts. His cock spasms violently inside Jack just as Jack comes in his mouth, quaking with the overwhelming force of his ejaculation.

“Enough,” Jack pants, pulling away. “I can’t take any more.”

“You can, Jack,” Gabe says. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and grins wickedly. “I’m not done with you.”

He rolls Jack over and pushes him down flat on his stomach on the bed. His cock is astonishingly, ruthlessly hard. Jack gives a soft cry and trembles as Gabe penetrates him again, holding him down and pounding him like a jackhammer. But he’s already hard again, too. Immensely aroused by Gabe’s dominance. He likes feeling helpless in the powerful hands of his husband. His muscles stiffen and he tilts his ass upward to meet Gabe’s thrusts. Gabe claws his back savagely and licks the blood from the gashes. Jack’s vision goes black. He comes a third time, barely able to breathe as his ejaculation is wrenched out of him. Gabe takes hold of hips and gives a final, deep thrust as he comes inside him. Then, much to Jack’s relief, Gabe falls down beside him and takes him in his arms.

“How you doing, baby?” he says softly, smoothing Jack’s blonde hair back from his perspiring forehead. “Wasn’t too hard on you, was I?”

“Not harder than I like,” Jack grins. “But I hope you don’t have any plans for the weekend that involve walking. I thought sex was supposed to be boring and predictable now that we’re married.”

“I don’t think anything will ever be boring and predictable for us.”

“I hope it will, though. At least a little. I mean, we can’t always be rushing from danger to danger, never knowing what to expect and never having time to settle down and enjoy our lives.”

“You’re right, baby,” Gabe says, burying his nose in Jack’s hair and breathing deeply. “Sometimes a comfortable routine is nice.”

“Gabe…all that stuff about us fucking someone else…you know that was just bedroom talk, right? I don’t really want to fuck other people. Do you…?”

“I don’t want anything that you don’t want, Jack. Anyway, I’m not about to start sharing you now that you’re my legal property.”

“Your property, huh?”

“Yep. You’re mine, Jack Morrison.” He takes Jack’s hand and kisses the ring on his finger. “Till death, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Jack smiles.

He nestles his body into Gabe’s and sighs contentedly. Gabe is drifting off when he feels Jack stir and sit up.

“Gabe,” Jack says, shaking him gently.

“Yes, Jack?”

“I’m going to order a banana split. Do you want one?”

“Of fucking course I do.”

 

 

“You did not think, Dr. Voss, that you would really be allowed to leave this place alive, did you?”

“I did not,” Dr. Voss says, removing his spectacles to wipe them on his sleeve. He puts them back on and glares at the intruder. “I know better than to trust you people. Though I am surprised to find you so forthright about it. I expected to be murdered in my sleep long before now.”

“I am sorry to disappoint you, then. Do you have anything else to say?”

“Yes,” the old doctor sneers. “Go to hell.”

“That is very likely. Goodbye, Herr Doktor. Say hello to Satan for me.”

There is a brief, sharp hiss, like compressed air being suddenly released from a valve. With a sickening gurgle in his throat, the old doctor crumples to the floor of the cell. Several minutes pass. Then a hand reaches out and rolls him over, checks his pulse, and finally closes his glazed, unseeing eyes. The cell door clangs shut. Steady, even footsteps pass down the concrete-walled hall to the elevator. The doors swish open, then close again, and the elevator glides up toward the tenth floor.

 


	46. Johani

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ****TRIGGER WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS A GRAPHIC DEPICTION OF UNDERAGED PROSTITUTION****
> 
> The subject matter is treated respectfully, and is related in the first-person by a character as part of their personal life-story. However, readers may want to be advised that this character experienced deep trauma related to the incidents they recount, and the material may be triggering to those who have experienced similar trauma.
> 
>  
> 
> **********************************************

The security-camera footage from Voss’s cell tells the entire story. The old doctor sits up in his bed, puts on his glasses, and looks about him. He pauses for a moment, as if startled by a noise. Then he clutches at his throat and falls to the ground seizing. It is over in a few seconds. The cell door opens and a guard rushes in, shaking Voss and speaking into her radio. The Colonel touches a button and the image on the screen freezes.

“So, that’s about the size of it,” he says. “Voss died alone in his cell, at 0336 on Sunday morning.”

“What was the cause of death?” Jack asks.

“The autopsy revealed that Dr. Voss died of a massive brain hemorrhage,” Angela says. “I was on the scene as quickly as possible, but he was already dead when I arrived.”

“So, there’s nothing to investigate then,” Jack says, sitting back in his chair.

“Don’t look that way, no,” the Colonel replies. “Here’s the autopsy report, if you fellas care to see it, but it don’t say much worth reading.”

Gabe takes up the file and flips through it in a dilatory fashion. “Why wasn’t Agent Shearwater guarding him?”

“I removed Noah from that duty a couple weeks back,” Commander Andreev says. “His personal history with the old devil made it distressing to him.”

“Is that why he broke the cell door down and threatened Dr. Voss’s life?” Angela says icily. “Distress?”

“He didn’t threaten his life,” Andreev replies calmly. “He did offer to remove his tongue from his mouth, though. I figured you’d prefer it if he remained bodily intact for the time being, so I relieved Noah and put a rotation of agents on the door instead.”

“Noah tried to…remove Voss’s tongue?” Jack says, horrified.

“Well, tried is a strong word,” Andreev says. “He threatened to do it, but I don’t think he really intended to. If he’d been in earnest, there’d have been nothing I could do to stop him, aside from a direct nuclear strike.”

“What…what do you mean?” Jack asks.

“Boss?” Andreev says, turning to the Colonel.

“Aleksei means that Noah is…enhanced,” the Colonel says.

“Like us?” Jack asks.

“Well, no,” the Colonel says. “He’s uh…”

“He has not been genetically augmented, as you and your teammates have been, Commander,” Angela interjects. “Many years ago, Dr. Voss used the body of Colonel Lawrence’s combat medic to experiment with his nanite technology. Noah is the result.”

At this matter-of-fact statement from Angela, Jack notes that a look of pain, similar to one he has seen on several occasions before, briefly crosses the Colonel’s stoic face.

“Nanites?” Jack says. “Like the ones in Niefang? The ones that nearly killed Gabe?”

“Not exactly like, no,” Angela says. “His nanite infection was always symbiotic. That was Dr. Voss’s method of producing his humanoid weapons.”

Jack looks around at Andreev, the Colonel, and Angela, then at Gabe, who has apparently developed an engrossing interest in the autopsy report, and doesn’t react.

“What do you mean was always symbiotic?” Jack asks, attempting to swallow in a dry throat. He keeps his eyes fixed on Gabe. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Gabe shuts the file and places it on the Colonel’s desk. “Well, I don’t think anyone here is going to shed a tear for the old man,” he says, as if he hasn’t heard the question. “Particularly now that Angela doesn’t need his help any longer. I’m lucky he waited to die till I was out of danger, though.”

“That was very fortunate,” Angela smiles. “We are all very pleased that you have recovered, Gabriel.”

“How, exactly, was Voss assisting in Gabe’s treatment?” Jack says, beginning to grow pale and agitated. “Why are you all ignoring my question?”

Gabe stares straight ahead. The Colonel and Andreev look at each other, then at Angela. She lays a hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“It is alright, now, Commander,” she says soothingly. “Gabriel will be fine. Dr. Voss had a far better understanding of these things than I do, and I needed his help to develop a method of negating their destructive effects on Gabriel’s system. His method worked, and your husband is no longer in any danger of illness or death.”

Jack ignores her and stares blankly at Gabe for a moment. Then he shakes off her hand, rises abruptly, and stalks out of the room, leaving the door swinging wildly on its hinges.

“Gabriel,” the Colonel says, eyeing Gabe sternly. “I think you better go talk to him.”

“He doesn’t need to know,” Gabe says. “It would only upset him and make him worry about nothing.”

“Give him more credit than that, Gabriel. He’s a grown man. And he has a right to know. As your co-commander and as your husband.”

“He won’t understand, boss,” Gabe says, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. “And he’ll be very angry. He might even leave me.”

“Angry? Sure as shit he’ll be angry. But how do you think he’ll feel when it eventually comes out—which it will, one way or another—and you never told him? The longer you wait, the worse it’s going to be.”

“I just…can’t,” Gabe insists.

“Then I’m afraid it’s an order, son. It ain’t right you’ve kept him in the dark about this for so long, and I won’t have something like this hanging over you two and impacting the cohesion of the team.”

“Fine,” Gabe says, making resigned gesture. “I’ll tell him. I’ll talk to him tonight at home.”

“Good,” the Colonel says, rising from his seat and holding out his hand. Gabe rises, too, and shakes it. “And Gabriel, Jack ain’t gonna leave you. Not over this. He ain’t as fragile as you think.”

“I hope not.”

Gabe nods to Angela and Andreev and exits the Colonel’s office, closing the door behind him. As he walks briskly down the hall toward the study, he feels a tug on his arm. He stops short and looks around. There is no one in sight. After a moment, he feels the tug again. Stronger this time, and on the entire upper-left side of his body. As if he’s being pulled toward something by a powerful magnetic current. He turns and walks in the direction from which it seems to be coming. It leads him toward the elevator. He steps on. It feels as if it’s coming from above him now. He makes a quick calculation, then presses the button for the 19th floor, which contains the exit to the roof. He walks out onto the smoking patio, and is not surprised to find Noah. Of course, he may have just happened to be sitting there, but he certainly looks as if he’s been waiting for Gabe.

“Hey,” Gabe says, glancing about to make certain no one else is present. “Did you…?”

“Yeah,” Noah says, gazing toward the tree-lined horizon to the west. “Thanks for coming.”

“No…problem,” Gabe says uneasily. “What’s going on?”

“I…I don’t have anyone to talk to, Gabriel. No one who understands me.” he says, turning his large, luminous grey eyes on Gabe. “I had hoped maybe…you and I would be friends.”

“Noah, I sympathize with how you must be feeling,” Gabe says, seating himself on the picnic table. “But kissing my husband is an odd way to try to begin a friendship.”

“I have never been very good at making friends,” Noah says, smiling sadly.

Gabe takes out a cigarette and lights it. “I’d say that’s an understatement.”

“Gabriel, I’m sorry for what I did. I know you have no obligation to listen, but if you would, I’d like to at least attempt to explain myself.”

“I’m all ears,” Gabe says, spreading his hands as if signaling Noah to take the stage. “Go for it.”

“I don’t know how to relate to myself as a person outside of a…sexual context,” Noah says slowly. “I never learned that I might have more to offer than to be an object for the desire of other men. So, when I have any strong, positive feeling toward another man, I default to sex.”

“Why is that?” Gabe says, puffing on his cigarette.

“Because, from the age of thirteen until I was sixteen, I lived on the street and I sold myself to men to survive.”

Gabe nearly chokes on his cigarette. “You—you what?”

“I was a prostitute,” Noah says. “It was the only means I had to keep myself from starving.”

“Jesus Christ,” Gabe says, astounded by the horror of the situation, as well as Noah’s matter-of-fact manner of stating it. “How…how did you…”

“How did I wind up working the streets at thirteen?” Noah says with a grim smile. “Let me have one of those cigarettes and I’ll tell you.”

Noah sits beside Gabe on the table. Gabe lights a cigarette and hands it to him.

“I’m sure Jack has told you about my tannie Themba and how the government took me away from her and put me in that all-white boys’ home.”

“Yeah, he said you escaped and lived on the streets. But he didn’t mention the…other thing.”

“I didn’t tell him,” Noah says. “No one knows but Colonel Lawrence and Aleksei. Not even Angela.”

He exhales a long, white plume of smoke and sits silent for a moment. Then he resumes.

“When I escaped from the boys’ home, I had nothing and no one to turn to. I slept in garbage bins and begged on street corners, and I was always a hair’s breadth away from starving to death. One night I was huddled up in the doorway of this bake shop, and a man walked by. Then he came back. He took out a five rand note and asked if I wanted to earn it. I followed him into the alley behind the shop, and he unzipped his trousers and took out his penis. I didn’t understand. He told me to suck it. I told him to give me the money first. He laughed and handed me the note, and I stuffed it into my pocket and got on my knees. I gagged when he put his penis in my mouth and when he ejaculated, I vomited all over the ground. He laughed again and walked away. But I had the money and that was all I cared about.

So, I tried other men. Some wanted me to suck them off, some wanted to fuck me. Some of them paid me, some didn’t. One beat me and robbed me afterward. He left me bleeding on the ground in an alley. Then suddenly there was this girl looking down at me. She had bleached-blonde hair and a lot of makeup on, but she wasn’t much older than me. That was Johani. I told her to fuck off. She said I was going to get myself killed being so stupid, and she knelt down and started wiping the blood off my face with a handkerchief. She got me cleaned up and took a good look at me. She remarked on how pretty I was. Then she told me she could use a partner to watch her when she went with tricks, to make sure they didn’t try anything shady.

After that we were together all the time. She taught me how to tell a good trick from a bad one, how to avoid the cops, where to get a shower, and how to stay safe when I had to sleep. We looked out for each other and shared whatever little bits of money and food we had. Things were never more than platonic between us. Sometimes we pretended to be brother and sister for some of our more…perverse clients, but we only fucked when someone paid us.

We went on like that for almost three years. Then things started to get difficult. The cops started cracking down on prostitution, and it got harder and harder to find tricks. Johani told me about this abandoned apartment building in the slums outside Cape Town, where some friends of hers had gone to lay low for a while after they'd been arrested. She said we’d save some money and get out there soon, to wait for things to calm down.

She had this regular who liked to get rough with her, so I was always careful to follow her when she went with him. But one time I was occupied with a man in the bathroom of this bar that was letting us hang around, and she left with the trick anyway. I went after them as fast as I could, but I didn’t get there in time. He crushed her trachea and left her lying in a pile of garbage behind another bar a few streets down. All I could do was hold her and watch her die. I knew the cops would find her, and I couldn’t risk being arrested, so I had to leave her there.

But I knew the man who had killed her—where he liked to drink and when he was usually around. So I stalked him. I watched him and followed him and waited for my opportunity. One night he came stumbling drunk out of a bar. I waited around the corner, and when he passed me, I shoved him and ran off into the alley. Sure enough, he came after me, swearing and shouting and saying he’d kill me. I waited in the shadows and when he got close, I stabbed him in the side. He went for his gun and I slashed his arm. Then he fell down and I stabbed him over and over again till he stopped moving. I took his wallet and watch and gun, to make it look like a robbery. I kept the money and threw everything else in the river, and then I ran. I made my way to that slum that Johani’s friends had gone to. I told them I was her brother and she had said I’d be safe there. They let me sleep on the floor in their room, and no one asked me any questions.

Then one day these men showed up. Big, scary Namibian guys with assault rifles and fatigues. They threw all the crackheads out of the third floor and took up residence there. The crackheads bitched and said they’d go to the cops, but I told them to shut their fucking mouths before they got us all killed. These men obviously didn’t want to be seen, so I went up there and offered to bring them groceries and takeout food and things if they’d give me a little money.

One of them would stare at me when I came by with deliveries. He came out in the hallway and lit a cigarette after I dropped the things off one day. I smiled at him and he followed me to an empty room down the hall. He touched my face and called me ‘honey’ and ‘pretty baby’ while I sucked his cock. He said he’d want me again tomorrow, and he’d pay me a little extra if I didn’t tell the other men. I said of course I wouldn’t tell. I wanted the money.

I was on my way up the stairs carrying some bags of takeout food for them one night, when someone grabbed me from behind and put a knife on my neck. He told me if I made a sound he’d cut my throat. It was an American. I dropped the bags and put my hands up, and he turned me around. He looked just like a heroic action star from an American film. He was tall and handsome, he had light brown hair and a beard, and there were scars on his face. I knew this man was dangerous. That he was a killer. But I could see that he was not a coward or a liar. I told him where the Namibians were and how many, and he gave me a one-hundred rand note.

I hid behind the building and watched as he and his men killed all of them as they tried to escape the building. Then I begged him to take me with him. He agreed and I went with them in one of their trucks. They were kind to me and they gave me clean clothes and hot food when we got to their base. He said his name was Thomas Lawrence and that he was a counter-terrorism agent working for the American government. He questioned me, and I told him everything about myself and what I had done. I wept like a child and I was ashamed of it, but he put his big arm around me and said, ‘It’s alright, son. That’s all over, now. You’re safe here.’ I never forgot those words.

After a couple of months, I started to really believe that he didn’t intend to send me back to the South African authorities. He got me papers saying I was Noah Shearwater, I was eighteen years old, and I was from Holland. They made me work hard and brought in tutors to see to my education, but they were never cruel, and no one ever tried to touch me. After a year, he sent me to live in the States with a friend of his and her family, and I went to medical school. When I came back, he made me his personal combat medic. And then…well, that is really all of the story that matters.”

“Fuck,” Gabe says, using his fourth cigarette to light a fifth. “I thought I’d had it rough, but my life has been a Sunday picnic by comparison.”

“I didn’t tell you all of this so you would feel sorry for me, Gabriel,” Noah says, accepting another cigarette. “I told you so that you would understand me better. Understand why I am the way I am.”

“Why is that so important to you?”

“Because you are the only person I have ever met, in all these horrible years, who has ever been like me. You and I…we both have these things inside us. I have never known anyone else who would understand what that means. What it feels like to be kept alive by millions of microscopic machines. And what it feels like to be removed from and essentially superior to other humans, even the HEAs.”

“The other agents…we’re superior to them? How?”

“They are enhanced well beyond ordinary human capacity, but they are still limited by biology. We are only limited by what the machines can do. We are many times stronger and faster than they are. Or rather, I am. You _will_ be. The HEAs will age very slowly, but eventually they will grow old and die. We will not age at all, and our lifespan is…indefinite.”

“I don’t want to live forever, Noah,” Gabe says, shaking his head slowly. “Not without Jack, at least. He is my…soul. Without him, I’d be…I don’t want to think about what I’d be.”

“I know how that feels,” Noah sighs. “I was in love once. Though, he was not in love with me. So I suppose it’s not the same.”

“What about Lydia?”

“Lydia?”

“Yeah. I thought you two were happy together. I mean, until you kissed Jack.”

“I was happy with Lydia. But she was in love with me and I didn’t love her that way. Not the way she deserves. Not the way you love Jack.”

“Is that why you ended things with her?”

“No. I would have stayed with her, if only because I didn’t want to hurt her. But I found out something that made it impossible for me to continue the relationship. I found out just that night, in fact. The night I came to your house.”

“Do you think maybe that was part of the reason for what happened?”

“That is very likely,” Noah says, smiling ruefully. “I hadn’t thought of that. But Gabriel, I—I wasn’t trying to get between you and Jack. I just wanted so badly to be…close to you. I acted from instinct and tried to use sex to do that. I have made that mistake before.”

“But it was Jack you approached.”

“It was.”

“Why?”

“Because if Jack responded to me, I’d be sure it was all him. With you, there would always have been a shadow of a doubt in my mind as to whether you had really wanted me or if I had…compelled you.”

“But you wouldn’t do that.”

“Never. Gabriel, the idea of forcing you to…to…” Noah shudders and looks away. “It’s too monstrous to even think of. It makes me physically sick.”

Gabe gazes on his companion with a grave expression of concern. When Noah turns back to him, there are tears on his beautiful face. Without thinking, Gabe reaches out and brushes them away. Noah gives a start and jumps back. There is something wild and panicked in his eyes, like an animal coming face to face with a hunter, and for a split second, Gabe thinks he might actually run away.

“Jesus, I’m so sorry,” Gabe says. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s alright,” Noah says breathlessly. “It’s just—you surprised me, is all. You shouldn’t be _able_ to do that.”

“I shouldn’t?”

“No. My nanites should make me aware of your exact physical position at all times, especially in such close proximity. But they didn’t. I didn’t see your hand coming.”

“What does that mean?” Gabe asks, looking questioningly into his face.

Noah’s grey eyes are wide with alarm. “I have no idea.”

 


	47. Sarah

“Yeah, I can feel it,” Gabe says irritably. “Cut it out, for fuck’s sake!” He takes a few deep breaths. “Sorry. The adrenaline response is, uh, pretty potent.”

“I know. It’s alright. And I can sense your position as usual, too,” Noah says. His eyes are closed. He opens them and shakes his head. “I don’t know what that was. Everything seems normal now. I can’t imagine what could’ve caused it.”

“I guess we could talk to Angela about it,” Gabe offers.

“I’d rather not bring it to her unless something more concerning happens,” Noah says. “We have no reason to think it’s anything to be worried about in the first place. Besides, it seems like the kind of thing that would be difficult to explain without sounding…”

“Insane?”

“Yeah,” Noah laughs. “I can’t imagine that saying, ‘Hey Angela, we’re worried because I didn’t know Gabriel was going to touch me,’ would go over very well in any context.”

“Agreed. I don’t think explaining that to Jack would be a lot of fun, either. Speaking of which, I’ve got to go. I have to talk to him about the whole…nanite thing.”

“Are you two going to be ok?”

“I hope so. He’s going to be pretty angry that I didn’t tell him.”

“Why didn’t you tell him?”

“Because we weren’t sure it was going to work and I didn’t want him to worry. And I didn’t want him to try to stop me. He wouldn’t have liked the idea of controlling the nanites that were killing me by injecting me with more of them. But Angela was sure that it was the only way to save me. I had to do it. Stopping to fight with him about it may have cost me my life.”

“And you didn’t trust him to understand the reason you had to take the risk and support you?”

“No,” Gabe says, with a sigh. “Jack is…he doesn’t respond well to unexpected or unconventional ideas. He needs time to process those things. I didn’t have time.”

“I see.”

“You don’t agree?”

“You know him better than I do. But, in my observation of him, I haven’t found him to be resistant to unconventional or even preposterous ideas. I mean, he was the first to deduce why you’d all been brought here, and the first to accept the treatment.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I think maybe the real reason you didn’t tell him was that you couldn’t face how different it would make you from him. Because if you admitted that, you would have to admit that you may also outlive him by many years. I think that idea is too painful for you to acknowledge.”

“I told you that I don’t want to live without Jack, Noah,” Gabe says slowly. “What I mean is that I _will_ not. When he goes, I go. That’s all there is to it.”

“Would he want that?”

“It won’t matter,” Gabe says with a grim smile. “He won’t be around to tell me what to do. I’ll see you later.”

“Goodbye, Gabriel. Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

 

 

“Hey Marie,” Gabe says, poking his head into the kitchen. “Is Jack around?”

“Monsieur Jack is there,” their housekeeper says, pointing a wooden spoon toward the back door. “I told him to go outside because he was smoking the entire place up while I am trying to cook!”

“Thanks, Marie,” Gabe grins. “It smells delicious, by the way.”

“Of course it does,” she says, putting her hands on her hips. “Now run along with you before you make me forget something and it all burns to a crisp.”

Gabe goes to the back door and places his hand on the knob. He pauses and takes a deep breath. Jack only smokes when he is extremely upset. He opens it slowly and steps out into the courtyard. Jack is leaning back in a patio chair, with his feet on the table and a cat in his lap, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the clear, early-autumn air.

“Hey, baby,” Gabe says, approaching apprehensively.

“Hey,” Jack says. He doesn’t look at him.

Gabe comes around and takes the chair across the table from him. Jack stares into trees above him, drawing on his cigarette and letting the smoke curl lazily up out of his mouth.

“Can I talk to you about something?” Gabe asks, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table.

“Why bother?” Jack says in an undertone.

“What?”

“You don’t care what I think, so why bother talking to me about anything?”

Gabe looks down at his hands. “Ok, I deserved that. I’m sorry, Jack.”

“Yeah? Well, so am I.”

“Jack, if you’d just let me explain—”

“No,” Jack cuts him off. “No, I don’t want to hear your explanation, Gabriel.” He sits up and sets his feet on the ground, eyes snapping with blue fire. The cat in his lap, disturbed by his shifting position, hops down and stretches out under the table. “What is your after-the-fact self-justification worth to me? Why should I have to listen to it, when you’re going to continue to do pretty much whatever the fuck you want, no matter what I have to say?”

“Jack, I…I’m sorry.”

“You said that already. How the fuck could you do this to me? How could you make a decision like this without telling me? And then continue to keep it from me even after it was done?”

“So you know, then…about the nanite treatment.”

“I’m not a fucking idiot, Gabe. I was able to put two and god damned two together after that little slip-up of Angela’s. That’s another thing. You even involved other people in your lies. It’s…incredible to me!”

“Don’t be angry with them. They were—”

“Angry with them? Oh, I’m not. Don’t worry about that. It wasn’t their place to tell me. It was yours. What the fuck is wrong with you, Gabe? After all these years. After we got fucking married. Why do you still not trust me?”

“Trust you? I do trust you, Jack,” Gabe says pleadingly.

“Not enough to talk to me before you did an incredibly dangerous and insane thing—a thing that could have killed you—and maybe ask for my fucking opinion on the subject.”

“I was afraid,” Gabe says quietly.

“Afraid of what? Afraid I’d stop you? Because I would have, Gabe. I would have put a stop to this maniac idea the minute I found out you were even contemplating it.”

Gabe keeps his eyes fixed on his hands. “I was afraid to let you find out why I…had to do it, no matter what you said. And I was afraid to face what it would mean to us, once it was done.”

“Why did you have to do it?” Jack crosses his arms. “It was under control. There may have been other ways if you had just waited.”

“No,” Gabe says, shaking his head slowly. “I know Angela told us that we had time to develop a solution, but she was wrong. The nanites in my body started adapting to my altered DNA. They were changing faster than we could keep up and we had to do something drastic, before—” he breaks off and looks up into Jack’s bright blue eyes. “I was in pain, every minute of every day. I was dying, Jack. I was dying and I didn’t want to leave you after I’d only just found you again. And it was selfish and reckless and dangerous and I don’t regret it. Not for a second. Because I’m here with you.”

“You’re…you’re not in pain now…are you?” Jack asks, his lip quivering with emotion.

“No. Not anymore.”

“But you were in pain every—every minute of every day, and you kept that from me, too?”

“I didn’t want you to know. I knew how it would hurt you, baby, and I—”

“I am not a fucking child, Gabe!” Jack almost shouts, jumping to his feet. “I am your fucking husband. You don’t get to decide what is too much for me to handle. You are not just _you_ anymore. You are part of _us_. Just like I am. We are equal partners in this thing, and if you can’t learn to treat me like one, I…I can’t be with you.”

“Jack, I am so sorry,” Gabe says. A tear rolls down his face, then another. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to take a walk and clear my head. I want to forgive you, Gabe, but I’m too angry to talk to you anymore right now. I’ll be back before dinner.”

With that, Jack turns and strides out of the courtyard, slamming the cast-iron gate behind him. The cat beneath the table starts and gives a “mrow” of disapproval at being so rudely awakened. Gabe scoops up the cat and carries it inside, shutting the door quietly behind him. He’s torn with anxiety about Jack. He doesn’t know what to do with himself till dinner, so he goes upstairs and lies down. He takes Jack’s pillow in his arms and buries his face in it, breathing in the warm, mingled scent of Jack’s body and his shampoo and whatever aftershave he’s been using. Just his scent is so heartbreakingly dear to Gabe, that he finds himself in tears again. He rolls onto his side, still clutching the pillow, and gradually drifts off into a troubled, fitful sleep.

 

 

Jack stuffs his hands in the pockets of his grey hoodie and turns the corner onto the next street. He wouldn’t really be bothered by the cold, even without the jacket, but he likes having his hands against his body. It’s a self-soothing behavior he picked up years ago. He walks briskly up the idyllic, tree-shaded avenue, enjoying the rustle of the red and gold leaves under his feet. He’s not walking toward the Colonel’s house intentionally and, in fact, only realizes he’s gone that way when he hears the Colonel’s cheerful, booming voice call his name from across the street. Jack waves and crosses to meet him. The Colonel is standing on the sidewalk outside his own enormous, brown-brick Georgian Colonial, holding the leash of a…dog? Jack does a double-take.

“Is that a wolf, boss?” he asks, eyeing the long, lean body of the grey and white canine.

“Yeah, that’s right,” the Colonel says. “Half, maybe. She’s too well-behaved to be all wolf. I picked her up on a mission in Ukraine. She was a scrawny, half-starved little pup then. I found her chewin’ on a bag of garbage in our camp one night and I couldn’t leave her in the wild all alone, so I took her home with me.”

“What’s her name?”

“Oh, I didn’t properly introduce you yet,” the Colonel grins. “Jack, this is Sarah. Sarah, this is Jack, one of the men I told you about from work.”

“Nice to meet you, Sarah,” Jack says.

The wolf gives him such an intelligent, comprehending look, Jack half expects her to reply. She sits back on her haunches and makes a sound like “rooo-wooo” in greeting.

“She says it’s nice to meet you, too,” the Colonel says.

“I think she did,” Jack laughs. “She’s smart, isn’t she.”

“Sure is. She’s been the best wingman I could ask for these past ten years.”

“You took her on missions?”

“Yep. I don’t take her anymore, now she’s gettin’ on in years, but she still thinks she’s as spry and young as a pup.”

“Sarah is an unusual name for a wolf,” Jack remarks.

“She’s named after…an old friend,” the Colonel says. “What brings you to my neck of the woods this evening, Commander?”

“Oh, I was just getting a little exercise before dinner,” Jack says. “It’s such a nice night and all.”

As if in response, the wolf snorts and scratches the smooth concrete with her left paw.

“Sarah, that’s very impolite,” the Colonel says.

“What was that about? Why’d she do that?”

“Sarah here is a trained interrogator. That means she don’t believe you. But it ain’t any of her business, since we ain’t at work. Ain’t that right, young lady?”

The wolf blinks up at her master and warbles softly in her throat.

“You owe Jack the apology, not me,” the Colonel chides.

The wolf stands and steps toward Jack, nuzzling his knee gently with her velvety muzzle. Jack laughs and scratches behind her ears.

“No offense taken, Sarah. Anyway, you were right.” He looks at the Colonel. “Gabe and I…we had an argument. I needed to cool off before I said something I’d regret. So, I went for a walk.”

“I’m real sorry about all that, son. It wasn’t my place to tell you, but I made it clear to him that I didn’t approve of him keepin’ it from you. I’m glad he talked to you.”

“I just don’t know how to feel about it,” Jack sighs. “I want to believe he had good reasons, but I’m so tired of him treating me like I can’t be trusted to handle things like an adult.”

“You think that’s what it was? He thought you were too fragile to handle it?”

“That’s what it sounded like to me. He said he didn’t want me to know because he knew how it would hurt me.”

“Well, listen, son,” the Colonel says, laying a large, calloused hand on Jack’s shoulder. “If that’s the worst thing he’s done—the only thing that’s come between you—I’d say you’re doin’ a damn sight better than most of us. Sounds like even though his actions were questionable, his motive was concern for you.”

“I just don’t want him to hide things from me anymore. Especially things that could seriously impact our lives.”

“That’s reasonable. You ain’t wrong to want your husband to treat you like an equal partner in the relationship.”

“That’s exactly what I told him.”

“Good. And make him respect that. But Jack, if this thing ain’t worth leavin’ him over, then you have to forgive him. Really forgive him. Punishing him for it and making him miserable about it won’t do anyone any good. Marriage is a lifetime commitment, and y’all are gonna have a longer lifetime than most people. Every grudge you keep and wound you nurse adds a little more poison to the well. You gotta learn to let things go, if you want to find yourselves happy and still in love after fifty-odd years.”

“Like you and Commander Andreev?” Jack says, smiling softly.

“That’s right, like Aleksei and I,” the Colonel says, laughing his big, hearty laugh and slapping Jack’s shoulder. “Now that you mention it, I better run along inside before he thinks I’ve gone senile and wandered off. You have a good night, Jack. And try to go easy on Gabriel. He’s had it pretty rough these past few months.”

“I will, boss. Thank you.” Jack says, kneeling down to stroke the wolf’s lush fur once more. “Bye, Sarah. You take good care of the boss, ok?”

The wolf wags her tail and licks Jack’s face, then trots proudly ahead of her master into the house.

 

 

A thunderous boom somewhere in the distance shakes the walls. Gabe blinks and casts his eyes about him in the dark. A shaft of moonlight cuts through the dust and smoke in the air and brightly illuminates a square of debris on the floor.

“They’re still a way off,” a deep, gravelly voice says beside him. A hand takes hold of his chest plate—what is this, body armor?—and pulls him roughly toward the speaker. “I have to get back. Make it quick.”

Gabe stares uncomprehendingly down at the masked face in front of him. It’s a man. Broad-shouldered and muscular beneath his garish, red-white-and-blue leather jacket. He has short, unruly white hair, and a long scar trails down his forehead, terminating somewhere beneath the red-lensed mask that covers his face from brow to jaw. He’s doing something. Tugging at Gabe’s belt. Unbuckling it. His gloved hand bumps against Gabe’s achingly hard cock. He’s unfastening Gabe’s fly.

“What are you—” Gabe stops short, startled by the rasping hollowness of his own voice.

“I don’t have time to play games with you,” the man snarls. He peels off his gloves and drops them on the floor. “Fuck me or get out.”

He slides his hand down the front of Gabe’s tight-fitting black pants and takes hold of his hard cock. Gabe’s head spins and he gasps as the man begins to stroke him. Rapidly, mechanically, he unzips the man’s fly and reaches inside. The man gives a hoarse cry of pain and then laughs low in the back of his throat.

“You’re gonna slice my cock to ribbons, you asshole. Take off that fucking glove.”

Gabe stares at the bizarre, steel claws on the end of the heavy black glove as he pulls it off and tosses it to the ground. He pushes his face against the man’s mask and realizes he’s wearing a mask too. He reaches up with his bare hand to touch it.

“Don’t,” the man snaps. “I don’t want to know. That was the deal.”

He pulls Gabe down on top of him in the rubble and dust on the floor. He presses his cock against Gabe’s. Gabe takes them both in his hand and strokes them together. The man winces at the iciness of the touch, then moans softly beneath his mask. Gabe realizes he can’t spit in his hand to lubricate them with this mask on. At the thought, however, his hand instantly becomes slick and wet, sliding smoothly along their shafts.

“Fuck me!” the man growls.

He turns over onto his hands and knees beneath Gabe. Gabe yanks his pants and underwear down and penetrates him roughly. His body is burning hot inside. So solid and tangible and…alive. The man groans and pushes back against Gabe’s cock, gripping the tattered, filthy carpet with his fingers.

“Harder,” he pants. “Harder!”

Gabe thrusts desperately, pounding into him with inhuman force. He pulls the man’s shirt up with his gloved hand and claws long, bloody lines into his skin. The blood soaks into Gabe’s glove. Into his hand. Into his body. He feels warmer, suddenly. More alert. More _real_. The gashes close themselves before Gabe’s eyes. He opens more, drawing the blood into himself. Drinking in the man’s life and vitality. His thrusts are growing sharp and erratic. He’s going to come.

“Come!” he rasps at the man on the floor before him. “Come now!”

The man’s hot, tight hole clamps down on him. He writhes and shudders as he comes at Gabe’s command, spurting thick, milky-white fluid into the black grime on the floor. Gabe’s cock throbs and spasms with his intense ejaculation, releasing something cold and viscous inside the other man. He remains that way for a moment, catching his ragged breath.

“Get off me,” the man snarls, in his weathered, craggy voice.

There’s something about that voice, though. Something so…familiar. Gabe doesn’t have time to think about it. The man shoves him roughly away and climbs to his feet. He turns his back to refasten his pants. Gabe does the same. Then he stands perfectly still and silent, staring while the man puts his gloves back on and dusts himself off. He glances at Gabe once more with that masked face, then turns and walks out the door.

A sudden, blinding flash of clarity electrifies Gabe’s mind. He rushes to the open doorway, peering about frantically in the dark. No sign of the man remains. Gabe falls to his knees, clutching his stomach as if he’s going to be sick. He cries out in agony, setting the empty rooms and halls ringing with the reverberations of his dead, metallic howl.

“Jack! Don’t go! Jack, please! Please come back!”

“I’m here, Gabe! I’m here!” Jack says, shaking Gabe anxiously. “It’s ok! I’m here!”

Gabe jolts awake and sits bolt-upright, almost knocking his forehead into Jack’s chin. He’s drenched in cold sweat and trembling all over. Jack’s warm, firm hands are on him, clasping his shoulders, drawing him into a comforting embrace. Gabe throws his arms around his beautiful husband and covers his face with fevered kisses.

“Jack,” he says breathlessly. “Jack, I love you. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, Gabe.” Jack laughs uneasily, pulling away to look into Gabe’s face. “What the fuck kind of dream were you having?”

“A bad dream,” Gabe says, shaking his head and pressing him close against his chest. “Just a bad dream. Jack, baby, please forgive me. I’ll never lie to you again, I swear. I’ll do anything you want. Anything to show you that I mean it.”

“Gabe, just—shut up,” Jack says, prying himself free again. He sits back and takes Gabe’s hand in his. “I forgive you. I understand that you were in pain and scared and probably not exercising the best judgement. But listen, you have to stop acting like I’m a delicate flower that needs protecting. I’m a grown man and you have to treat me like one, got it?”

“Got it. I promise,” Gabe smiles, gazing into Jack’s blue eyes. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For loving me.”

“You’re welcome. Let’s go down to dinner, ok? Marie is beside herself worrying that the soufflé will fall before we get around to eating it.”

 

 


	48. Russia

Agent Yun is uneasy about Agent Barrett. She’s not exactly certain why, but something is amiss with her, and has been all morning. She dismisses her three young recruits for lunch a few minutes early, and heads for the study to catch her friend before she leaves. She finds Miller there chatting with Agent Stedman, one of his trainees.

“Hey, Kevin, have you seen Lydia anywhere?”

“Yeah, was she here a little while ago,” Miller says. “I’m pretty sure she went up to smoke.”

“Thanks!”

She heads up to the smoking patio, but Lydia isn’t there. She’s just about to turn back, when she catches sight of her friend from the corner of her eye. She’s sitting on the low wall that forms the perimeter of the rooftop with her legs dangling off the building. Yun approaches slowly.

“Hey, Lydia,” she says cautiously. “How’s it going?”

“Did you know,” Lydia says, in a husky, weary voice, “that a fall from this height wouldn’t even kill us? Isn’t that a strange thing to think of?”

“Yeah, I guess it is,” Yun says. She sits on the wall beside Lydia, but keeps her feet on the inside. She’d prefer not to fall, regardless of the non-lethality of the proposition. “Why are you thinking about that?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Lydia says indolently. Her eyes are rimmed with red and there are traces of tears on her face. “I was just sitting here and I started to wonder what would happen if I did fall.”

“Honey,” Yun says, taking her friend’s hand. “What’s wrong? You only start talking about horrific accidents when you’re really upset.”

“Minnie…I can’t. I can’t tell you,” she says, growing increasingly distressed. “I feel like my whole world’s gone topsy-turvy, and I can’t even talk to my best friend about it.”

“But why can’t you tell me? You know I won’t tell anyone.”

Lydia shakes her head. Tears are starting in her eyes again. “It’s not that I think you’d tell anyone, it’s just that it’s…it’s too awful to talk about.”

“Is it about Noah?”

“No, darling, that was months ago. Give me a little credit.”

“Hey, I was pretty sure that wasn’t it,” Min-Ji smiles. “But I mean, Noah’s the only thing I’ve ever seen you upset about, so it was worth a shot. Unless…it’s not about me, is it?”

Lydia rolls her eyes and pinches her friend’s arm playfully.

“I know, I know. Um…Temple?”

“No. Wait a second, Minnie, are you actually trying to guess?”

“Yep. Miller?”

Lydia wrinkles her nose.

“No, of course not,” Min-Ji says. “Who else is there?”

“It’s about…Colonel Lawrence,” Lydia says hesitantly.

“Colonel Lawrence—hang on, isn’t he like, seventy-five years old? And, you know…our boss?”

“Min-Ji!” Lydia exclaims. “Don’t be dreadful!”

“I don’t think it’s that dreadful. I mean, he’s a very attractive older man—”

“He’s my father,” Lydia blurts out.

The words hit Min-Ji like a thunderclap. She sits silent with her mouth open for a few seconds. “He’s your…father? What—how—”

“You have to swear not to tell anyone, Minnie,” Lydia says urgently. “I’m not even meant to know. I found out by mistake.”

“Of course I won’t tell anyone. But Jesus, Lydia, this is a big deal. How did you find out?”

“I was in for my exam yesterday afternoon and Dr. Z left the room to do…something, I don’t know what. She left her computer screen on and it was my chart, so I didn’t think anything of glancing at it. Under parents, it listed my mum and dad and then right beside them, in big black letters, ‘Colonel Thomas Lawrence’ with the word ‘biological’ under his name in parentheses.”

“Holy shit. What did she say about it?”

“Nothing. I pretended I hadn’t seen it.”

“Why?”

“Because I obviously wasn’t meant to know. He—he doesn’t want me to know.”

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”

“And then there are all the things it suggests. Uncle Alex was my dad’s closest friend. I grew up knowing him. He’s been the Colonel’s lover all these years, which means that he has to have known. He has to have been aware that I was not my father’s child, and that…” She trails off and breaks down sobbing.

“I am so, so sorry,” Min-Ji says again, wrapping her arms around her distraught friend. “This must feel terrible.”

“You don’t know the worst part,” Lydia says. “It’s so outrageous, I can hardly say it.”

“What is it?”

“When Noah and I were together, he told me that years ago, before I was born, he was…involved with the Colonel. Sexually involved.”

Min-Ji cringes. “Did he…know about you?”

“I hope not! But I really don’t think so. If he did, it would’ve been unthinkably perverse for him to be with me.”

“I’m sure he didn’t,” Min-Ji says decidedly. “Noah’s weird, but he doesn’t strike me as that kind of twisted.”

“I know. I can’t believe that about him, either. But it doesn’t matter if he did or not. The fact remains that now I’ve been with a man who’s also been with…” she shudders and falls back to weeping on her friend’s shoulder.

“Hey, listen,” Min-Ji says, pulling herself gently away to look at Lydia. “You and I both have about a million days of leave saved up. Why don’t we take a trip somewhere? It might help get your mind off things here. We could ask Jack to come, too. That way you’ll have both your best friends to cheer you up.”

“You know, that doesn’t sound half bad,” Lydia sniffles. “But what about all our little trainees? Someone will have to mind them.”

“Oh, they’re pretty much trained by now. It wouldn’t be asking too much to get the guys to look in on them once a day and make sure they’re doing their work. I’ll take care of all that. You just take care of inviting Jack and deciding where you want to go, ok?”

“Somewhere warm and sandy?” Lydia says, brightening somewhat.

“Deal,” Min-Ji says. “Now, come on inside and splash some water on your face. Don’t want the boys to know you’re sad. They’ll all try to find out the reason so they can beat it up or shoot it.”

“They would, wouldn’t they,” Lydia smiles, wiping a tear away. “They’re all so sweet and protective.”

“I’m glad you think it’s sweet,” Min-Ji frowns. “I can’t help but find it a little patronizing. I mean, we’re all super-soldiers. Being ladies doesn’t make us any less tough than they are.”

At that moment, Gabe enters the smoking patio with an unlit cigarette in his mouth and a black knit cap pulled down to the middle of his ears. He sees them at the edge of the building and strolls over to meet them, then he stops short, glancing back and forth between the two women for a moment.

“Who do I have to kill?” he says, taking the cigarette out of his mouth.

“See?” Min-Ji exclaims, laughing aloud. “What did I just say?”

Gabe raises an eyebrow. “I missed something, didn’t I?”

“I’m feeling a bit blue today and Min-Ji said I better not let you boys see me looking upset, because you’d be inclined to do violence on my behalf,” Lydia says. “You’ve only just proven her point.”

“Glad to help,” Gabe smirks. He light his cigarette and wraps his arms around himself. “How can you two be out here without jackets on? It’s like forty degrees outside.”

“Maybe we are tougher than them,” Lydia says aside to Min-Ji. “The cold doesn’t bother us at all, Commander Reyes.”

“Yeah, well, you’re from the place that basically invented cold weather,” Gabe says, shivering. “I’m from LA. I can’t stand anything below seventy.”

“Is that why you’re dressed up like a cat-burglar?” Min-Ji asks.

Gabe narrows his eyes and pulls the sides of his cap further down over his ears, which sets both his friends giggling.

He shakes his head and sighs mournfully. “You women are so cruel. Can’t a guy keep his ears warm without being made the subject of fun?”

“Speaking of fun, Gabe,” Lydia says. “Minnie and I are planning to go away on holiday at the end of the week. Do you think we can get leave?”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Gabe says. “Things are pretty calm around here right now. Did you talk to Jack?”

“No, no! You see, we’re planning to kidnap your husband and take him along. It wouldn’t be a proper kidnapping if we warned him ahead of time.”

“Oh you are, are you?” Gabe chuckles. “Well, you know my address for the ransom notes.”

“You wouldn’t mind if we invited him, would you, Commander?” Min-Ji asks. “Lydia could really use some quality BFF time.”

“I’ll mind if you ever say ‘BFF’ to me again,” Gabe says, lowering his chin and eyeing her disapprovingly. “But yeah, you should invite him along. I think the cold weather and lack of work lately has been making him a little stir-crazy. He’s been threatening to remodel the kitchen.”

“Well, then, we’re doing you a favor!” Lydia laughs. “How long can we sneak off for? Do you think a whole week would be alright?”

“Sure,” Gabe grins. “But you’ll have to ask Jack if he can stand being away from his devastatingly handsome husband for that long.”

“You forgot to mention modest!” Lydia says. “Thanks, Gabe. I’ll go see if I can catch him now.”

“He’s in his office,” Gabe calls after her as she trots away.

Min-Ji stays behind and Gabe offers her a cigarette.

“Oh, no, thanks. I don’t smoke,” she says, fidgeting awkwardly with her hands. “Commander, I—thanks for being so cool about Commander Morrison coming with us.”

“No problem,” Gabe replies. “What’s up? Everything ok?”

“Yeah, it’s just that—remember how I told you a long time ago that I had feelings for Lydia of a…romantic nature?”

“I do, now that you mention it. Is that still an issue?”

“Well, not really. I’ve been seeing someone for a while now. And Lydia really is my best friend. I’m not some creep trying to use friendship to get in her pants or anything. But she’s one of those straight girls that tends to get really…affectionate with her female friends when she’s drinking, and I don’t want something to happen that could be…misunderstood, you know?”

“I get it,” Gabe nods. “Having Jack there will be a good buffer, then.”

“Yeah. And I don’t think my girlfriend would like me to go if it was just Lydia and I. She’s a little jealous.”

“Who is she, anyway? I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone.”

“I’d really rather not say, if you don’t mind,” Min-Ji says, coloring slightly. “It’s kind of new and I don’t think we’re ready to be like, _known_ as a couple yet.”

“I understand completely,” Gabe says, smiling. “There’s enough pressure on a new relationship without the added stress of a lot of other people knowing about it.”

“Was it difficult for you and Jack?”

“Well…not so much, since it wasn’t that new. But it was kind of embarrassing at first. When I saw him that first day, I was absolutely furious. We had broken up two years earlier, and I had no idea he was going to be here. I decided then and there he wasn’t going to get a chance to hurt me again. But then the boss took me to lunch, and told me he knew all about Jack and I and that we hadn’t spoken in a while, and pretty much ordered me to patch things up with him.”

“That’s not why you got back together, though, is it?”

“No, no, not at all,” Gabe laughs. “We were still ridiculously in love with each other. But long-distance was hard on both of us and we broke it off like a couple of idiots, instead of trying to figure out how to make it work.”

“I’m really glad you did,” Yun says. “You guys are like, my ideal of what a good, happy marriage should look like.

“Why, thank you, Yun,” Gabe says, grinning impishly. “I know we strive to be an example to gay couples everywhere. But seriously, no relationship is perfect. We’ve had our share of problems and it took a lot of work to get where we are.”

“I really hope I’ll have something like that one day.”

“I’m sure you will. Just don’t try as hard to fuck it up as I did, and you’ll be all set.”

“Thanks, Commander,” Yun laughs. “I’ll remember that.”

 

 

“Hey, Jacky,” Lydia says, popping her head into Jack’s office. “Guess what you’re doing!”

“Reviewing trainee progress reports?” Jack says, looking confused.

“Wrongo, pal. You’re going on holiday with Min-Ji and I.”

“Oh.” Jack eyes the stack of files on his desk. “I would have thought it’d be more fun than this.”

“You’re very clever today,” Lydia says, falling into a chair. “Really though, Minnie thinks I need some r&r, and we’re thinking of taking a week off to go someplace warm and sandy. You want to come along?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t had time to think about it. When do you want to go?”

“Saturday. Come on, come with us. Gabe says you have to.”

“Does he, now?”

“Well, he says you’ve got cabin fever and have been threatening to tear up the kitchen, which is just as good.”

“I guess if it’s ok with Gabe, then yeah, sure,” Jack smiles. “It’ll be nice to spend some time with you guys and get out of the cold.”

“Brilliant! I’m thinking Puerto Rico. It’s close enough for a short holiday and it’s a US territory, so no need for passports.”

As she is speaking, Jack’s phone rings. Lydia waits politely as he answers. Her heart sinks as his expression changes. This does not bode well for her holiday.

“Yes, sir. I’ll be right there,” he says. He hangs up and looks apologetically at Lydia. “It sounds like that trip might have to wait. The boss has something urgent for us.”

“Of course he does,” Lydia sighs. “Tell me it’s at least somewhere sunny?”

Jack winces. “How sunny, on average, is Russia?”

 

 


	49. Vector

The six original team members, Morrison, Reyes, Barrett, Yun, Temple, and Miller are assembled in the briefing room. Colonel Lawrence and Agent Shearwater sit at the end of the table, and Commander Andreev stands at the head, pointing to an image on the large screen behind him and addressing the group.

“This image was taken above Novosibirsk, a province in southwestern Siberia,” he says. “On the outskirts here, is an urban center called Koltsovo.” He clicks to the next photo, a closer image of Koltsovo, then to an image of a large, modern-looking industrial facility. “This is the Vector Institute. A state-operated virology and biotech research facility, and part of the Biopreparat. In the Soviet era, the Biopreparat was a system of secret labs that produced weaponized forms of pathogens such as smallpox, anthrax, the bubonic plague, and hemorrhagic fever, as well as some creative hybrids.

However, in 1979, more than a hundred Soviet citizens died in a pulmonary anthrax outbreak in a city containing a Biopreparat facility, thus exposing their activities to the Western world. Between that and the collapse of the Soviet Union, the system suffered, and most of its facilities shut down. Vector is one of the remaining operational branches. In the intervening years, it has changed its focus from weaponizing diseases to curing them, and has become a World Health Organization reference lab, specializing in training influenza specialists from around the world.”

He clicks to a closer shot of the facility’s main gate. “This facility, in Koltsovo, is one of the world’s two official repositories of the smallpox virus. It is protected by a complex security system, in addition to a Russian army regiment who act as guards. Despite the heavy security, the facility had a break-in three days ago. The military men on duty were killed, along with several of the scientists working in the building, and the biocontainment section was breached. Vector reports that numerous storage units containing vials of smallpox, anthrax, and other pathogens were stolen during the attack. The interesting part is the manner in which the facility was breached. Eyewitness reports, confirmed by security camera footage, attribute the break-in to this.”

He clicks to a somewhat grainy photo from the front of the facility during the time of the intrusion. Several of the agents gasp and Gabe laughs outright.

“What the fuck is that thing?” he says. “It looks like a rock ‘em sock ‘em robot.”

Andreev clicks to another photo. The thing pictured is a giant, metal, humanoid shape with its arm extended forward, discharging some sort of explosive.

“This is a prototype nuclear-powered weapons system that was stolen from Bezhin Industries a couple of weeks ago,” he says. “I know it looks like a robot, but it’s got a human pilot. It’s essentially a bipedal tank.”

Miller raises his eyebrows. “Metal…gear?”

The other team-members stare at him blankly.

“Oh, come on, guys,” he says. “Hasn’t anyone here ever played a video game? A bipedal tank! Like from Metal Gear—you know what, nevermind. You guys are no fun.”

“I have a question,” Lydia says. “Why hasn’t this been an international news story? A giant nuclear robot stealing biological weapons from a secret Soviet lab sounds like the kind of thing people might find interesting. Although the news media would probably tend to sensationalize it.”

“This thing is an extremely dangerous weapon and it has been used to gain access to a large quantity of the world’s deadliest pathogens,” Andreev replies. “In order to prevent a nationwide panic, the Russian government has suppressed all details relating to the theft of the prototype weapon, as well as the break-in at Vector. The only reason we know about it is because my contacts at the Russian Ministry of Defense called to ask for our help. We need you all to go get it back, detain whoever is responsible, and return those biocontainment units to the Russian authorities.”

“Any idea where it headed after it attacked the facility?” Jack asks.

“Unfortunately, it’s using an advanced camouflage system that includes thermal cloaking, so we can’t get a visual on it, and it’s not leaving a heat-signature visible to infrared surveillance. Based on its average speed and the surrounding geography, we have determined a radial area of movement in which it could potentially be located.”

“So, we just wander around hundreds of miles of Siberian wasteland until we run into it?” Temple says doubtfully.

“Nope,” Andreev says with a smirk. “We’ve got a way to locate it, if it’s anywhere within…how far, Agent Shearwater?”

“A nuclear-powered machine that size?” Noah says, looking up from the notes he’s been taking on a legal pad. “I’d say I could pick it up from a range of fifty kilometers, maybe more.”

All of the agents but Gabe look confused.

“What do you mean, pick it up?” Jack asks. “How?”

“Don’t worry about that right now, Commander,” Colonel Lawrence says. “All you need to know for the moment is that he can find the thing once you’re in range.”

“The question is, can you and your team take it down,” Andreev says. “It’s armed with antitank missiles, arm-mounted rotary machine guns, and a defensive charge that electrifies the outside hull in short bursts. Its armor is reinforced with depleted uranium, and when it’s active, the cockpit can’t be opened from the outside without a tremendous amount of force. Not to mention, it’ll likely be accompanied by whatever other armed lunatics helped its pilot get a hold of it in the first place.”

“We can do it, Commander,” Jack says. “If Agent Shearwater can find it, we’ll figure out how to take it down.”

“Good,” Andreev says. “Any more questions before we start talking strategy?”

 

 

Late that evening, Commander Andreev steps onto the elevator and takes it down to the basement level. The place is deserted when none of holding cells are occupied, and the echo of his even stride is the only sound that disturbs the silence. Just as he has expected, he finds Noah pressed against the iron bars, gazing into the empty cell recently occupied by Dr. Voss. Andreev stops a few feet away and leans idly on the wall. He takes a cigarette from a gold case in his pocket and lights it with a matching gold lighter. He looks the boy over thoughtfully while he puffs on his cigarette.

“You know,” he says. “They say a killer always returns to the scene of the crime.”

“I thought Voss died of natural causes,” Noah replies, still staring into the cell.

“No you didn’t.”

“No,” Noah smiles bitterly. “I didn’t.” He turns his large, languid grey eyes on Andreev. “I understand why it had to be done, Aleksei. But I should have been the one to do it, not you.”

Andreev shakes his head. “No, you shouldn’t have. You’ve suffered enough because of that old demon. Having his blood on your hands wouldn’t have been anything but another torment.”

“What’s one more torment to me now? I’ve got nothing left but pain.”

“It’s more than you think,” Andreev says, laying a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “And you know that ain’t true. You’ve still got me, and I love you like my own son.”

“How can you, Aleksei? How can you even stand to look at me?”

“You know how. Don’t pretend we haven’t been through this before. If I blamed you for being nineteen and falling in love with the same man I did when I was nineteen, what would that say about me?”

“I always knew he only loved you,” Noah sighs. “So really, I brought it on myself.”

“You weren’t the one who should’ve known better, Noah. The only person to blame in that situation was Tom, and you know it as well as he and I know it.”

“Maybe. But maybe I’m just…too fucked up and that’s the way I’ll always be.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I…made a mistake like that again. I…kissed Jack.”

Andreev suppresses a smile. “Oh you did, did you? Well I don’t suppose I can blame you. He’s almost as pretty as I was at that age.”

“Not quite,” Noah grins. “I’ve seen photos of you from those days. You make Jack look like the ugly stepsister by comparison.”

“Well, I don’t know if I’d go that far. What came of it?”

“He freaked out and told me it couldn’t happen. I apologized and explained that I didn’t mean for anything to happen without Gabriel’s knowledge. Then Gabriel and I talked, too. I think we’re all friends now. But I wanted it to be…more, I suppose.”

“I don’t think those two are like Tom and I in that sense. They seem pretty monogamous.”

“You always were.”

“Yes, but Tom never was. I didn’t need him to be. His extracurricular sexual activities didn’t matter to me. Until you, that is. I know you think he only ever loved me, but that’s not true. He did love you. He still does. Just not the way you wanted him to. Not the way you deserve.”

“I don’t deserve to be loved, Aleksei. I’m just a worn out old whore. I don’t know if I’m even that anymore. Maybe I am just a machine pretending to be a man.”

“Look at me,” Andreev says, placing both his hands on Noah’s shoulders and turning the young man to face him. “You are Noah Kores Ryskamp and you are my friend. I know you, Noah. You are not a machine.”

Noah gazes admiringly at the severe-featured but still handsome old Russian, then embraces him tightly. “Thank you, Aleksei. You have always been a good friend to me.”

“Alright, alright,” Andreev laughs, patting the young man’s back. “Don’t crush my old bones, now.”

Noah releases him and steps back, grinning. “You’re tougher than you pretend to be, old man.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Andreev says. “It’ll ruin my element of surprise. You all ready for your mission tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I haven’t been in the field in a long time, so it was nice to dust off the old aramid-mesh suit and put it on again. It still fits like a glove.”

“You take care of those kids out there, ok? They don’t have half the experience you have, and I don’t think a single one of ‘em’s been as far as Moscow, let alone Siberia.”

“I’m pretty sure Lydia can handle herself, if that’s what you mean,” Noah smiles. “But I will. Don’t worry.”

“Glad to hear it. Why don’t you come have dinner with us? It’ll put Tom’s mind at ease to talk with you some more before you go. Besides, I know Sarah’s been missing you somethin’ fierce.”

“Sure. That sounds nice.”

The two men stroll to the elevator. Before they get on, Andreev opens an electrical panel on the wall and throws a switch, shutting down the lights and plunging the basement into darkness. Noah shudders at the black, tomblike emptiness of the place, and is glad when the elevator door slides shut behind them.

Early the following morning, the team, accompanied by Angela and Noah, board the Mark Twain to begin the arduous flight to Novosibirsk Oblast. The Mark Twain, as Lydia has dubbed it, is the XD-101 Mk. II, a super-long-range command and control aircraft designed for low-altitude radar evasion, and capable of supersonic speed, despite its relatively large size.

Inside, the cabin resembles a luxury jet liner, with ten pairs of large, plush seats in alcoves along the bulkheads, which can be folded down into a sleeping configuration. There is also a medical treatment area, a small galley, and even a restroom with a shower. The cockpit is separated from the main cabin by a short flight of stairs, rather than a door, allowing the occupants and pilot to communicate freely while airborne. In the front, right corner, there is a tactical planning area containing a small table with a built-in computer display and bench-seating attached to the bulkhead. The massive cargo hold below contains all of the team’s weapons, equipment, and other gear, save for their flight bags, which are stowed in lockers adjacent to their seats.

After a few final words with the Colonel and Andreev, Jack and Gabe board the aircraft, strap into their seats, and Lydia takes them up. There are several confused minutes in which the team has to adjust and refocus their enhanced hearing to attenuate the roar of the engines, but after that they are able to speak and hear each other with little difficulty.

Once they are at cruising altitude, Jack goes to talk with Lydia, and Gabe sits down at the table with a cup of coffee. He notes that Noah immediately adjusts his seat to its sleeping configuration and draws the curtain across his alcove. He is skimming idly through the mission details on the computer display, when Angela approaches. She has doffed her usual white coat in favor of the black, aramid-mesh jumpsuit worn by the rest of the team, and has her unruly platinum curls pulled back into a tight bun.

“Hey, Angela,” he smiles, as she sits down beside him. “What’s up?”

“Gabriel, I would like to talk to you about something,” she says quietly. Then she lowers her voice further, to the point where he has to readjust his hearing to catch what she says. “I have a concern about the parameters of this mission.”

“What kind of concern?” he asks, matching her hushed tone.

“We have been told that these deadly pathogens that have been taken from the Vector Institute are to be retrieved and returned to the Russian authorities.”

“Yes,” he replies. “So, what is your concern, exactly?”

“My concern is that the Russian government cannot and should not be trusted with free access to these types of extremely virulent diseases, all of which have been weaponized by the Soviets in the past. No government, in fact, should retain reserves of these things, for any reason.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“I am suggesting that as long as these things are out of the hands of the terrorist organization that took them, then we have done enough to satisfy our mission. And that if the pathogens themselves were to be destroyed by mischance, in the process of detaining the targets, no one could blame us.”

“I see,” Gabe says slowly. “Have you raised this…concern with Jack?”

“Gabriel, you know how he feels about me since I concealed your nanite treatment from him. He would dismiss this immediately as some devious scheme of mine to do something malevolent.”

“But why are you so interested in this? Isn’t Vector cooperating with the WHO now?”

“They are cooperating for now, yes. But who can say for how long the Russian government will be inclined to behave itself. Besides, their incompetence in the past led to an anthrax outbreak among their own citizens. And now they have allowed these things to fall into the hands of violent criminals. Gabriel, I have seen more suffering and death from disease than you can imagine. The nanite plague at Niefang was a drop in a vast ocean to me. If these things are eradicated, then there is that much less potential for terrible biological weapons to be used on human beings in the future.”

“Supposing I agreed with you,” Gabe says. “What then? How do you propose to destroy them?”

“With what I learned from Dr. Voss and my work treating you, I have made some extraordinary advances in my biotic technology. I have developed something I call a biotic pulse charge. It is capable of immediate, targeted microdelivery of my biotic solution, with the aid of short-life nanites. I have several of these prototype charges with my medical supplies. One places the charge and activates it, and the nanites are released to carry the solution to any organism inside the radius of the charge, which is about three meters. It was intended for emergency treatment of personnel in combat, but it will work just as well on the vials containing the live pathogens. The nanites are many hundreds of times smaller than the virus cells, and can permeate materials they cannot. This includes the biocontainment units in which they are stored.”

“But if they’re prototypes, they could fail to deploy.”

“That is possible, yes.”

“What would we do then?”

“In that case,” she laughs, “I think ordinary fire would do the trick. They are only viruses, which means they are as susceptible to heat as any other organic matter.”

“Look, Angela,” Gabe says, after a pause. “I agree with your reasoning, here, but I can’t help you do this without telling Jack. I can’t keep hiding things from him. I won’t say anything to him if you intend to carry out your plan on your own. But if I have to be involved, he has to know.”

“I understand, Gabriel,” she says smiling softly. “You are right not to wish to conceal things from your husband. I would prefer not to risk his interfering with my purpose, though. So I suppose I will undertake to do it on my own. But please do keep this between us, as a favor to me?”

“Of course,” Gabe says. “You spoke to me in confidence. I’m not bound to betray a secret that isn’t mine.”

“Thank you, Gabriel. Now I think I will go and take a little rest while I can. You should try to rest, as well. There will be much to do when we land in Novosibirsk.”

 

 


	50. Bogatyr

Jack is in the unoccupied co-pilot’s chair chatting with Lydia. Min-Ji is sitting at Lydia’s other side, running a final diagnostic on the systems console, and Gabe and the others are napping or reading in their seats.

“Here we are, Jacky,” Lydia says, pointing to one of her GPS displays. “Looks like we’re just about set to begin our final descent.”

“Already?” Jack says. “It doesn’t feel like we’ve flown ten-thousand kilometers.”

“That’s the beauty of supersonic travel,” Lydia laughs. “Virginia to Siberia in about eight hours. Would you be a love and let the others know it’s time to strap in?”

Jack alerts the members of the team, who adjust their seats and fasten their harnesses, then he straps in beside Gabe. In a few minutes, they feel the buck and shudder of the air-resistance changing as they drop out of supersonic speed. The jet descends in a long arc over the flat Siberian landscape, slowing gradually as it loses altitude. Lydia checks her readouts and makes adjustments, guiding the steel beast toward the target LZ. She touches another button, which transmits the aircraft’s identification to the local controller, and in a minute or two, receives the acknowledgement ping.

The Russian night is crisp and clear, and through the cockpit’s windscreen, she sees the red and green lights of the airfield spring to life and the blackness below. The Severny Airport’s commercial service shut down years before, and it now serves mainly as maintenance facility and heliport for police helicopters. Their GRU contact on the ground has arranged for the landing and housing of the Mark Twain while they are in-country, and they will travel the rest of the way to Koltsovo by helicopter. She slows the jet, dips sharply downward over the tarmac, and engages the thrusters for vertical landing. The jet dutifully obeys her commands, and they sink gracefully out of the sky, with only the slightest jolt as the landing gear connects with the ground.

“Welcome to Novosibirsk,” she announces. “Local time 0317, local temperature six degrees Fahrenheit. Bundle up kiddies!”

Min-Ji compliments her landing as they trot down the stairs to retrieve their flight bags, and there is a bustle of lively activity as the group dons their parkas and other cold-weather gear against the Siberian winter outside.

“Noah, Miller, you’re on,” Jack says, zipping up his parka. “Our GRU contacts speak English, but it’s probably best to try to communicate in Russian when we can, out of courtesy, ok?”

“Got it, chief,” Miller replies.

Noah nods his acknowledgement, then Jack opens the cabin door. They are instantly greeted by a blast of dry, icy, arctic wind. Gabe shivers and pulls his cap down over his ears, and Lydia and Min-Ji laugh and jostle him playfully as the automated ramp folds down. The airfield is dark and deserted, save for the lights in the tower and on the landing strip. As the team disembarks, three men in drab uniforms with heavy, fur-collared jackets and dark brown, beaver-fur ushanka caps come trotting out to meet them.

“Commander Morrison. Commander Reyes,” the first says, in a stout Russian accent. “I am Major Nikolai Rostov. This is Captain Vasily Denisov and Senior Lieutenant Boris Drubetskoy. That is…one hell of a jet! I trust your journey was pleasant?”

“Very pleasant, thank you Major Rostov,” Jack answers, ignoring a sly smirk from Noah, who had known the Russian agents would be eager to demonstrate their skill in English, and there would be no need for translation.

They shake hands and Jack briefly introduces the team, then Jack and Gabe stop to speak with the Major while the team sets about unloading their gear. Denisov and Drubetskoy attempt to help, but quickly understand that they are not needed, and step politely out of the way. Denisov makes a comment in an undertone as Yun passes by carrying a crate of ammunition, at which Noah chuckles.

“What’s so funny?” she asks. “What did he say?”

“He says he didn’t know American women were so strong,” Noah grins. “He thinks they could use some like you in the GRU.”

“Oh,” Yun says, tossing her head. “Well, they certainly could.”

“Hey, bratán,” Drubetskoy calls to Noah. “You understand Russian? That’s cool, man. Where did you learn?”

“Aleksei Andreev,” Noah says. “He taught me years ago.”

“Nu ti dayosh! You work with Andreev?”

“We all work with him,” Noah replies. “He sent us here.”

“O, klassno!” Denisov says. “He is shíshka…how do you say it…a big deal.”

Noah laughs. “Well, I certainly think he is. They didn’t tell you who sent us?”

“Man, they don’t tell us nothing,” Drubetskoy says. “We know you came to help with the Bogatyr, but we don’t hear much otherwise.”

“Why do you call it Bogatyr?” Noah asks.

“Bogatyr is like…a knight. You know, strong hero man with armor.”

“Ah, katít,” Noah laughs. “I like that.”

“How are you guys going to fight that thing?” Denisov wants to know. “They won’t let us even look for it. They say it’s too dangerous.”

“That’s what we’re going to find out,” Noah says. “I think that’s the last of the gear. Excuse me for a moment.”

Noah alerts Jack and Gabe that they’ve finished unloading, then Lydia taxis the jet into a maintenance hangar. A few minutes later, an Mi-35M Hind E attack helicopter lands on the tarmac.

“I apologize, Commander,” Major Rostov says to Jack. “The Hind is the largest gunship we could procure at short notice. I am afraid that with your gear, it will only carry four of you in addition to the pilot and gunner.”

“That’s alright,” Jack says. He pauses to think a moment. “Our medic and our intelligence man can ride to Koltsovo with you. Dr. Ziegler will want to have a look at the lab anyway. I’d prefer my own pilot and weapons systems officer, so I hope there’s room in those jeeps for your men.”

“Of course. We have plenty of room.”

“Excellent. We’ll do an initial sweep of the target field of movement and then rendezvous with you at Koltsovo. I assume you’ll be at the Vector facility?”

“Yes. We have set up a bivouac there to guard against another possible attack while the building is being repaired.”

“Ok, let’s get moving.”

The initial sweep Jack has referred to yields nothing and takes longer than they had expected, due to high winds across the Siberian plain. When they finally land the Hind at Vector, the sun is rising above the eastern horizon. Angela and Miller are waiting in one of the large, heated tents provided by the army, sipping hot coffee and chatting in Russian with their GRU contacts. Angela takes inventory of her medical supplies while Miller gets to work setting up the surveillance equipment, and Jack insists that everyone take a light meal and a short rest before they head out again.

By 0700 hours, they are aboard the Hind again, this time armed and fully-equipped. Lydia is flying the helicopter, talking quietly with Min-Ji. Gabe and Jack are seated together across the cabin from Noah. Jack’s blonde head is on Gabe’s shoulder and their fingers are laced together on Gabe’s knee. Gabe whispers something into Jack’s ear. Jack smiles and shakes his head.

Noah leans back against his headrest and closes his eyes. It isn’t necessary for detecting the machine, but he doesn’t wish to be spoken to, and the meditative posture signals that to his companions without the need for a verbal explanation. He waits and listens. Nothing. The helicopter banks softly and cuts a lazy semicircle through the blue sky over the flat, empty land. Nothing…nothing…something. Noah’s eyes snap open and a chill runs down his spine. It’s like nothing he’s ever heard before. A deep, guttural roar, like a lion. Like a thousand lions. He jumps out of his seat and goes to the cockpit.

“There,” he says, pointing to an area on Lydia’s radar display. “Mark that spot and get us out of here. Jack, Gabriel, I found it,” he calls out. “Twenty klicks northeast of our position. We’re heading back.”

The helicopter banks sharply this time, racing back toward Koltsovo. They can’t risk alerting whoever has the Bogatyr by flying over in a military helicopter. This is going to be a foot mission.

On a little rise in the center of a vast, muddy wetland, there is an abandoned Soviet military complex. The high concrete walls are still standing, but the gate has long since rusted away and fallen to pieces. The team moves swiftly through the undergrowth, surrounding the complex at eight points. At Jack’s signal, they move in, dropping silently over the walls into the courtyard. There are shouts, an alarm call, and the popping of small-arms fire as the men realize they are under attack.

Inside the cavernous, concrete-walled munitions warehouse, the Bogatyr roars to life. Faster than sight, Noah darts into the building, followed immediately by Gabe. Just as they slip inside, the massive, reinforced-steel security gate falls shut with a tremendous boom. A squad of masked men armed with Kalashnikovs confront them, shouting in Russian. Behind the men, the thunderous, clanging footsteps of the Bogatyr shake the ground. The men scatter out of the juggernaut’s path as it advances on the intruders. It faces them and extends its arms, missiles and machine-gun barrels at the ready. Gabe and Noah look at each other. Gabe’s twin sawed-off shotguns come out of their holsters.

“You take the big guy,” he grins.

“Try and stop me,” Noah says, readying himself for a leap.

Noah vanishes into the air as Gabe spins into the crowd of armed men like a dervish, raising a storm of blood and death around him before they can think to react. Outside, the team is fighting the remainder of the enemy combatants. Screams and gunshots reach Gabe’s ears even over the din inside. He stops, panting and wild-eyed with the fury of battle. Every last one of the masked men are lying in the mire of blood at his feet.

“Gabriel, watch out!” Noah shouts.

Gabe looks up and leaps out of the way just in time to avoid a fusillade of anti-tank missiles. They strike the concrete wall and explode with devastating force, filling the air with smoke and debris. The staggering giant’s arm swings through the choking cloud and catches Gabe full in the chest, knocking the wind from his lungs and flinging him backward. He rolls to a stop, stunned by the pain and shock of the blow. Electricity crackles along the thing’s armor plating, but Noah is hanging on. He is doing something to it. He’s pried some plating loose and is tearing wires out. One of its arms hangs slack at its side. The struggling servomotors whine, making it appear that the beast is screaming as Noah guts it. It reels, stumbles, and topples like a skyscraper coming down.

 

 

Gabe glances about him with odd clarity of vision. The warehouse is in flames. The masked men are dead. The Bogatyr is lying lifeless and prone, its extended arm pinning him to the icy-cold concrete floor. His body is strangely numb. He would have thought that being crushed from the ribcage down by two tons of steel would hurt. No, of course not. His spinal cord has probably been severed. The absurd obviousness of this fact strikes him as intensely funny. He’d laugh if he could breathe. Noah is suddenly at his side, gazing down at him with those strange, sad, grey eyes.

“Gabriel, stay still,” he is saying. He carefully lifts the massive metal arm from Gabe’s body and pushes it away. “Don’t try to move. Can you breathe?”

Gabe shakes his head.

“Gabriel, the animals are going to help you. But you have to trust me. There is very little time.”

Gabe stares helplessly as Noah draws his utility knife from his belt and makes a quick, deep incision in his left wrist. To Gabe’s confusion and horror, what pours from the open wound is not blood. It has the consistency of blood, but it is a dark grey color with a slightly metallic luster to it. He looks up fearfully into Noah’s face.

“I am not…as human as I would like to think,” Noah says quietly. “I am sorry, but this is the only way I know how to save you.”

He holds Gabe’s head in his lap and forces his bleeding wrist into his mouth. Gabe gags with revulsion as the warm, bitter fluid gushes down his throat. He makes a feeble attempt to struggle, but Noah’s strength outmatches his by many orders of magnitude, even when his body is not utterly broken. All at once, he is on fire. Burning from the inside. His spine ignites with searing agony, his lungs, his gut, hips, thighs, calves, then feet, all ablaze with unimaginable pain. He realizes he is clinging to Noah’s arm, swallowing his blood in deep, desperate draughts, like a man dying of thirst. Air bursts into his lungs and he sputters and gives a hoarse cry, pushing Noah’s wrist away from his mouth.

“What is this?” he rasps. “What did you do to me?”

“The animals,” Noah says dreamily. His head lolls to one side and he smiles. “I gave them to you.”

Gabe leaps up and catches him as he sways and begins to fall backward.

“Noah,” he says urgently, “Noah, what do you mean? What have you done?”

“They belong to you now, Gabriel. They will teach you. They will…take care of you.” He reaches up and strokes the scars on the right side of Gabe’s face. “I wish…that things had been different.”

“Noah, look at me,” Gabe says. “You are not going to die. Do you understand me? I am not going to let you die.”

“I died a long time ago,” Noah says, smiling faintly. “This…was just a detour. Gabriel, will you tell me something?”

“Anything.”

“Will you tell me…that you love me? Even though…it will be a lie?”

“It’s—it’s not a lie,” Gabe says hoarsely. “I do love you, Noah. I love you.”

A tear rolls down his face and splashes onto Noah’s wax-white cheek.

Noah laughs softly in the back of his throat. “You are…a bad liar.”

Gabe shakes his head and lays his warm hand on Noah’s icy-cold forehead.

Noah’s voice is growing slurred and distant. “Gabriel…I can’t…I can’t stay. Kiss me once, before I go.”

Gabe leans down, cradling Noah’s face in his hands, and kisses him gently on the mouth. Noah smiles and gazes up at him with those large, luminous grey eyes.

“Tell…tell Aleksei—” he breaks off abruptly, gasps and shudders, and does not speak again.

Gabe clasps him tightly against his chest. His body racks with dry, heaving sobs. It is this way that Jack finds him, as the rest of the team breaches the gate and storms into the warehouse at last. Sitting on the floor of the burning building, cradling Noah in his arms. His face and clothing soaked with blood and his guns lying beside him. It takes him a moment to understand what is happening, and at first, he resists their efforts to remove Noah’s body from his grasp. Then Jack speaks to him and soothes him, and he permits them to carry it away. Jack takes his hand and helps him get laboriously to his feet, and they walk slowly out of the warehouse together.

At the door, Gabe stops short and glances around. There was something…voices. Someone is singing. A sweet, heartbreaking melody echoes faintly in…he realizes it is coming from inside himself. The animals are singing, teaching him their song. The song of the star that guides fathers home at nighttime.

_Thula thul, thula baba thula sana;_

_thul’ u bab’uzo fika eku seni;_

_thula seni_

_kukh’in kanyezi ziholel’ u baba,_

_zimkhan yisela indlel’e_

_ziyekhaya sobelekhaya._

He brushes away the tears that run down his cheeks. “I won’t forget.”

“What did you say, honey?” Jack asks.

“Nothing. Noah…he died saving my life, Jack.”

Jack wraps his arms around Gabe and supports his body as he weeps on his shoulder. Then he leads him to a bench and they sit silent for a while.

“Gabe…I have to tell you something,” Jack says, looking anxiously into his face.

“What is it, baby?”

“I—I can’t let the Russian government have those viruses back. The fact is, I asked Angela to destroy them. I am going to take full responsibility for it, and I’ll assure them that you knew nothing about it. But there may be some…consequences. I just wanted you to be aware of what I’ve done. What? What’s so funny, Gabe?”

“Well, I was going to do the exact same thing,” Gabe says, smiling down into Jack’s perfect, sapphire-blue eyes. “I love you, Jack. Do I say that often enough?”

 


	51. Blood

Major Rostov, Captain Denisov, and Lieutenant Drubetskoy arrive in jeeps, followed by transport trucks carrying Russian troops. Jack goes to oversee the securing of the area, leaving Gabe sitting alone on the bench, listlessly smoking a cigarette. He watches the scene progress in eerie, distorted brilliance, as if he’s viewing it through the glass wall of an aquarium. The enemy combatants who have survived are unmasked and herded into a truck. The medics strap Noah’s body into a stretcher and lift into another truck. There is some commotion around the entrance to the warehouse. His eyes wander idly in that direction. The soldiers are dragging a man out of the building. He is kicking and struggling with his captors and shouting in Russian. Rostov is gesturing animatedly and talking to Jack. Gabe focuses his hearing and listens.

“…Pyotr Bezhin! Chairman of Bezhin Industries!” Rostov is saying, indicating toward the prisoner.

“Why would he steal his own prototype weapon?” Jack says, frowning. “What is he saying?”

“I cannot understand any of it,” Rostov replies. “He is…raving like madman. He says the angel of God spoke to him through the machine. I do not know what it means.”

“Who’s in charge of Bezhin Industries in his absence?”

“Alexsandr Volsky. He is vice chairman of the board of directors.”

“Get a hold of him and let him know we want to talk to him.”

“I will, Commander, but I do not know if he will come. Bezhin is very large company. He may be unavailable for some days.”

“Tell him the entire company is under suspicion until we hear what he has to say. That’ll light a fire under his ass. Meanwhile, take our friend Pyotr to the camp at Vector and keep him under guard till we get there. I want to question him myself.”

“Yes, Commander. Were…were your people able to locate the biocontainment units from Vector?”

“All sixteen of them,” Jack says. “You’re welcome to have a look, but Dr. Ziegler inspected them herself. The contents were entirely destroyed.”

“How were they destroyed?”

“I imagine the explosion that occurred when that maniac fired anti-tank missiles inside the munitions warehouse had something to do with it,” Jack says dryly.

“Ah. That is most…unfortunate. General Stepashin will not be pleased to hear this news.”

Jack’s bright blue eyes glint warningly. “One of my agents was killed today, Major Rostov. I care very little about what pleases General Stepashin.”

“I—of course. I apologize, Commander. I am very sorry for your loss.”

“If your men have everything under control here, I’d like to take my team back to Koltsovo now. I have to report our agent’s death to Commander Andreev before I decide how to proceed.”

At the mention of Andreev’s name, Rostov’s face drains of color. “Yes, Commander. I will make the transport ready right away.”

He hurries away, calling out to some of the soldiers, who run after him. Jack looks to the bench where Gabe has been sitting, but he’s nowhere in sight, so he goes to round up the others and get them ready to depart. When he climbs into the back of the truck, he finds Gabe already seated beside the stretcher, staring blankly into the middle distance. Min-Ji wraps her arms around Lydia, whose large aviator sunglasses fail to conceal the tears that pour down her cheeks and splash onto the front of her parka. They spend the ride back to Koltsovo in subdued silence.

“I’ll call Andreev,” Gabe says to Jack, as they climb out of the truck. “I was with him when it happened. I think I should be the one to tell them.”

“Are you sure?” Jack says, looking apprehensively into Gabe’s eyes. “You’ve been through a lot today, Gabe.”

“I’ll be alright. Take care of Lydia, ok? She loved him.”

Gabe squeezes Jack’s hand reassuringly and walks a few yards away to make the call. Jack finds Rostov, inquires as to the condition of the prisoner, and is informed that Vice Chairman Volsky will be with them in two hours time. He tells Rostov to have Bezhin prepared for interrogation, then goes to check on Lydia. He finds her in the infirmary, lying on a cot. Angela is tucking a heavy wool blanket in around her. She puts a finger to her lips and signals Jack to follow her into the adjoining room.

“I have given her a mild sedative, which will wear off in a few hours,” Angela says in a hushed tone. “She is extremely distraught. The only things that will help her now are rest and time. How is Gabriel?”

“He says he’s alright, but…he’s being strong, I think. For the rest of us.”

“He believes he is to blame for this,” Angela sighs. “I can see it written on his face. Make him talk to you, Jack. Don’t let him withdraw too much into himself. He will torment himself to madness.”

“I’ll try,” Jack nods. “But I can’t understand what happened. Noah's body had no injuries, from what I could see.”

“I think I may know what happened. But I will leave that to Gabriel to tell you in his own time. Have you spoken to the Colonel or Commander Andreev?”

“No. Gabe wanted to tell them himself.”

“This will be a heavy blow to them. Noah was…very dear to them both.”

Commander Andreev takes the news surprisingly quietly. He listens to Gabe’s account of the situation, then instructs him to inform the team that they are to hold their position and await the arrival of himself and Colonel Lawrence. They will be on the ground in twelve hours. Gabe stumbles heavily into the tent, relates the information to Jack, then falls exhausted into a cot and merciful unconsciousness.

When he wakes to instant, total alertness, he knows it has been ten hours and forty-one minutes, and that his body has been using all of its resources to undergo a massive regenerative effort. He is savagely, painfully hungry. He finds his pack and tears into an MRE, devouring its entire contents, aside from the chewing gum and powdered coffee, without tasting it. Still hungry. He opens a second and makes quick work of its contents as well. He is finishing a pouch of something labeled “Zapplesauce,” when Jack comes in looking for him.

“I see you’re feeling better.” Jack says, grinning at the pile of empty wrappers and packaging.

“Yeah, sorry I passed out like that. Did I miss anything important?”

“No. The Colonel and Andreev will be here soon, though, so I thought I’d come wake you up.”

“How’s Lydia?”

“She’s pretty shaken up. We all are. I mean, everyone but Angela. Nothing seems to get to her.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Gabe says. An edge of bitterness creeps into voice. “She always hated him.”

“Hate is a strong word, Gabe. And she’s been nothing but respectful and sympathetic.”

“I…I know. I’m not angry with her. That was unfair.”

Jack collects the packages and stuffs them into the MRE pouch, then sits on the cot beside Gabe. Without a word, Gabe falls against him, burying his face in Jack’s chest, breathing in his warm, familiar scent. Jack wraps his arms around him and presses his lips to the short-cropped hair on the top of his head. They are sitting in this attitude when Lt. Drubetskoy hurries in. When he sees them, he stops and turns his face quickly away, as if he has seen something compromising and is embarrassed by it.

“I apologize for my intrusion, Commanders,” he says, keeping his eyes averted. “Major Rostov sent me to inform you that General Stepashin is en route to the Severny Airport, and that we will depart shortly.”

“Thank you, lieutenant,” Jack says. “Tell him we will be with him in a moment.”

“Yes, Commander,” Drubetskoy replies, and hastily departs.

It has been so long since anyone has reacted with surprise to their relationship, they’d almost forgotten what it felt like. They share a private laugh over the young officer’s confusion as they pull on their parkas.

“I always forget that there are places more conservative than the US,” Gabe says. “But I guess I’m not surprised that the Russian bear hasn’t quite lumbered into our century yet.”

“Or maybe the lieutenant just didn’t expect to find two commanders in the same unit being so openly affectionate,” Jack replies diplomatically. “Most militaries don’t allow that kind of thing.”

“You’re right, baby. You’re always right,” Gabe says, catching Jack in his arms. “I think the Siberian cold is making me grumpy. Give me a kiss to warm me up before we head out there.”

 

 

The reception the Russian army gives to Colonel Lawrence and Commander Andreev is tantamount to what Jack and Gabe would have expected for a visiting head of state. General Stepashin waits on the tarmac, flanked by a squad of black-uniformed GRU men. An army squad of the same size, from the bivouac at Vector, is formed up behind them. The unit commander calls them to attention, and the entire group salutes as the Mark I lands. The Colonel and Commander Andreev exit the jet, and the soldiers maintain their salute as General Stepashin steps forward to greet their guests.

The Colonel’s grim, weathered face and broad shoulders, as he stands to his full height of six-foot-one in his dark-green Army dress uniform, make him appear very formidable indeed. Andreev, nearly as tall, though not quite so broad, has donned the black and red of the GRU once more, contrasting with his icy-blue eyes and neatly-trimmed white hair to remarkable effect. His knee-high, black riding boots are polished to a reflective sheen, and his close-fitting coat and trousers display a trim, athletic figure unsoftened by his advanced years.

The members of Jack and Gabe’s team are astounded by the change in their commanders. At home, the Colonel is so affable and fatherly, and Andreev so discreet and reserved, that they have almost forgotten that these two men are among the most renowned warriors in the world. But here, standing side by side before a respectfully saluting military formation, they look every bit the legendary soldiers they are. They shake hands with the general, exchange some obligatory pleasantries, and then climb into his long, black, armored car for the ride to Vector. They are followed by the General’s GRU squad, the American team, and then the army unit.

The mood of the camp is drastically altered by the presence of the General, as well as the two important visitors. There is little casual chatter among the men, and no idleness to be found. The atmosphere is tense and breathless, as if one-hundred and fifty men are standing to attention at all times, expecting to be called upon to perform some vital duty at any moment. This anxious mood does not extend to the American team, but they are inclined to be silent and hang together, remaining mostly in the sleeping area adjoining the infirmary.

The Colonel and Andreev are taken to view Noah’s body and then it is prepared for transport. After several hours, Andreev comes to the sleeping area and informs the team that they are to escort Noah’s body to the Mark II and take him back to Langley. He and the Colonel will remain and see to the closing of matters here. They will debrief with the team when they return. He makes as if to depart, but pauses and turns back at the doorway, looking over the faces of his weary, disheartened agents.

“You did your jobs well, and you have nothing to be ashamed of,” he says. “Noah was as aware of the risks of his occupation as any of us. He gave his life honorably, doing the work he loved. None of us could ask for a better end than that. Take him home and then get some rest. You’ve earned it.”

Before they can think to thank him, or even process a response, he turns and briskly exits the room.

 

 

When they arrive back at headquarters at last, no one is in any mood to talk. They have technically fulfilled their mission, but they feel beaten, torn, and unresolved. They disperse to go to their separate homes, walking slowly, as if dazed and saying their goodbyes in half-murmured undertones. Gabe escorts Noah’s body down to the morgue. As he leaves, he asks the physician on duty to let him know when the autopsy report is ready, so he can look it over.

“Oh, I apologize for the misunderstanding, sir,” the doctor says. “There will be no autopsy.”

“There will—why?”

“Colonel Lawrence’s orders. We are to keep him here until the memorial service, but his body is not to be disturbed otherwise.”

“Ah, of course. Thank you Dr. Singh,” Gabe replies. He wonders vaguely what reason the Colonel has for this, but he is simply too tired to devote any thought to it.

At home, Jack and Gabe hardly have the energy to shower and greet their brood of hefty felines before they collapse into bed, utterly wasted by mental fatigue and physical exhaustion. Several of the demonstrative animals curl up in various positions about their masters’ entwined legs (in direct defiance of Jack’s insistence that they not sleep on the bed) and purr enthusiastically.

Some hours later, Gabe jolts awake in a cold sweat. Another nightmare. Not like the others. He was back in the burning warehouse with Noah, but their positions had been reversed. It was Noah lying crushed beneath the arm of the Bogatyr, and Gabe who had lifted it away. He took Noah’s head in his lap and gazed down into his beautiful face.

_Gabriel…I can’t…I can’t stay. Kiss me once, before I go._

He leaned down to place his lips on Noah’s. The gentle kiss lingered, intensified, shifted into something more aggressive. More forceful. He pushed his tongue into Noah’s mouth. He began to taste blood. He kissed him harder, deeper, swallowing his blood in ravenous draughts as their tongues caressed each other. Noah’s body jerked and shuddered in his arms, then suddenly went rigid and still. He drew back to look into his face. Noah’s wide grey eyes stared lifelessly up at him, tears frozen on his snow-white, icy-cold cheeks.

Gabe’s stomach turns and he dislodges several sleepy cats as he tumbles out of bed and staggers to the bathroom. He shuts the door so the light won’t wake Jack, and draws himself a glass of water from the sink. He swallows a sip of it, then falls to his knees, retching violently into the toilet. He opens his eyes and gasps in horror. The pristine, white, ceramic bowl is filled with thick, dark-crimson blood. The sides are spattered with ruby-red droplets. He hasn’t even coughed up blood since the nanite treatment began to work, and he’s never vomited blood in his life. He sits on the floor trembling and clutching his stomach, terrified and uncertain what to do.

Half as a thought from his own mind, and half as an echo of some of sweet, husky voice, words come to him. _Remember the animals, baby. Talk to them. Ask them for help when you need it. They are all very wise, just like the rooster._

What could this mean? He stares dumbly at the gory mess in his toilet. Suddenly, an intense, vivid impression, almost like a vision, takes hold of his mind. He sees millions of tiny points of light, bustling furiously about inside him. They are placing themselves between torn and severed tissues, joining with his cells and knitting them together. There are no words, but he feels it communicated to him clearly and unmistakably that the blood he’s thrown up is damaged and wasted cellular matter that could not be repaired. This had been the only way to rid his body of so much at once. Relief washes over him, and his limbs cease quaking.

He lifts himself from the floor, flushes the toilet, and wipes away the spattered drops, silently thanking the animals for their help. He brushes his teeth and uses an astringent mouthwash that Jack buys, then pads softly back to bed.

“Gabe, are you ok?” Jack asks, turning to look up at him.

“Hey, yeah, I’m ok. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t. These assholes started climbing around on me and woke me up,” Jack says, indicating to the self-satisfied cats. “Are you sure you’re ok? I heard you throwing up.”

“I got a little sick, but I feel better now,” Gabe says. He slides under the covers and Jack nestles into his arms. “Probably those disgusting MREs I wolfed down earlier. Remind me never to do that again, no matter how hungry I am.”

“If they made you that sick, I don’t think I’ll have to remind you. Ow! God damn it! Get down, you bad cat!” This last bit is directed at Harriet Tubman, who has pounced on Jack’s toes and is playfully biting them.

“Jack, don’t raise your voice to the children!” Gabe laughs. “They’ll be scarred for life!”

“I’ll raise more than that,” Jack says irritably. “How did I let you talk me into keeping all these hair-covered couch-destroyers anyway?”

“How do I ever talk you into anything? I fucked you senseless and then asked you while you were still in a sex-induced daze.”

“You don’t happen to have anything you want to talk me into right now, do you…?”

“I’d like to talk you _out_ of these,” Gabe says, hooking a finger into the waistband of Jack’s underwear.

“Mmmm. I’m listening.”

Jack shifts his body languidly, pressing his ass against Gabe’s hard cock. Gabe pulls his arm tighter around Jack’s neck and slides his underwear down with his other hand. He begins to kiss Jack’s shoulder, but his stomach suddenly flips and churns again.

“Sorry, baby, just a minute,” he says, hopping up and hurrying to the bathroom.

He shuts the door and kneels before the toilet once more, heaving a torrent of ruby-red liquid into the white bowl. When he lifts his head, the door is open and Jack is standing there staring at him, frozen in dismay.

“We…we should probably—talk about this,” Gabe pants, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

 

 


	52. Memory

Gabe and Jack are seated at their dining room table with a bottle of Don Julio and a box of cigarettes on the table between them. All the lights are out, but moonlight streams in through the high windows, illuminating the room almost as brightly as if it were late afternoon. Jack gets up and brings two empty glasses and one half-filled with water to the table. Gabe lights a cigarette as Jack pours the tequila.

“Thank you, Jack, but there’s no point,” Gabe says. “I can’t get drunk anymore. No matter how much I drink.”

“Gabe, you always told me you don’t drink Don Julio to get drunk. I don’t want to drink by myself, so take it,” Jack says, pushing a glass toward him.

“Alright, baby.” He takes a sip and they sit in silence for a moment. “I don’t really know where to start.”

“Well,” Jack replies, swirling the golden liquor in his glass, “how about we start with why you tried to hide the fact that you were vomiting blood from me.”

“I wasn’t trying to hide it from you. I just didn’t want—”

“Gabe, if you’re about to say you just didn’t want me to worry, you can stop talking right now,” Jack interrupts. “We’ve been through this before and I won’t hear it.”

“No, Jack. Listen. I didn’t want to wake you up in the middle of the night after everything we’ve been through and try to explain why I was suddenly vomiting blood, and also try to make you understand why it was nothing to be excessively worried about. All I was going to do was wait until morning, after we’d both rested, and could talk about it with clear heads.”

“So?”

“So…what?”

“So why are you vomiting blood. And why the fuck is it nothing to worry about.”

“Ok,” Gabe says. He takes a deep breath and collects his thoughts. “I told you how Noah…how he died to save my life.”

“Yes.”

“But I haven’t told you how.”

“No.”

“After we got shut into the warehouse, I dealt with the armed guards while he jumped on the mech and started disarming it. He punched through the plating and was pulling some wires out—”

“He punched through depleted uranium armor? With his fists?”

“Yes. He is…he _was_ incredibly strong, Jack. Like nothing I’ve ever seen. Even we would have been no match for him.” He takes a deep draught of his tequila. “Anyway, then it fired those missiles and filled the whole place with smoke. I couldn’t see anything for a minute, and its arm came barreling through the smoke and knocked me down. I saw him fighting with it and I saw it start falling. The next thing I remember, I was lying on the floor, under…under the thing’s arm. It fell onto me when he took out the motor control systems. I was…totally crushed under it from here down.” He indicates to a spot about the center of his sternum.

“Jesus Christ,” Jack says, horror-stricken. “Jesus. Gabe…”

“I know baby, I know. I’m ok now. Listen. Noah pulled the arm off me. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even breathe. There was nothing I could do to…to stop him.”

“To stop him?”

“He told me there was no time and that the animals were going to help me. Then—”

“The animals? What does that mean?”

“I’ll explain, baby, but you have to stop interrupting me and just let me tell you what happened.”

“Ok. I’m sorry.” Jack takes a cigarette from the flat, blue box and lights it.

“He said the animals were going to help me. Then he—he cut his wrist with his knife and he forced me to…swallow his blood.”

Jack stares at him aghast, blue eyes wide and brilliant in the moonlight.

“I couldn’t do anything to prevent it,” Gabe continues. “He made me swallow a lot of it. It did something to me. I felt like I was on fire from the inside. I’ve never experienced pain like that. Then my body just…came back to life. He started to fall and I caught him. He told me that the animals were mine now. That he gave them to me and they’d take care of me.” Gabe’s voice quavers and he brushes a tear away. “He asked me to tell him…that I loved him, even though it would be a lie. And I…I did.”

“Oh, Gabe…” Jack says, tears starting in his own eyes.

“He just wanted—he didn’t want to die alone and unloved, Jack. I couldn’t let him. I had to say it.”

“Gabe, honey,” Jack says, clasping Gabe’s hand and squeezing it tightly. “Of course you did! Of course! You did the right thing.”

“Then he—he said he couldn’t stay. He asked me to kiss him once before he…” Gabe’s voice trails off into a low, shuddering sob.

Jack drops his cigarette in the glass of water and goes to Gabe’s side, wrapping his arms around him.

“I…I kissed him and then he…I felt him die. Right there in my arms. I saw the light go out of his eyes and he…died. He died because of me, Jack. Me. Mean, selfish piece of shit that I am, he gave up his life for…”

Gabe buries his face in Jack’s shirt and weeps bitterly. Jack holds him, stroking his hair and rocking him gently like a child. When he is calmer, Jack pulls his chair up close, and sits holding Gabe’s hand as he continues.

“The animals, as he called them, are his nanites. They’re not like mine or the destructive ones at Niefang. I don’t understand how they work, but they’re something…different. Angela doesn’t even really understand them. The only ones who did were Noah and Dr. Voss.”

“But…why did you throw up all that blood? Aren’t they symbiotic?”

“Yeah, they are. I know a little about them from what he told me and from—and this is going to sound crazy, so hear me out—from the nanites themselves. They seem to be able to…communicate somehow.”

“They…talk?” Jack asks doubtfully.

“No, not like that,” Gabe says, shaking his head. “It’s just…images and strong impressions. Like…well, like animals. I don’t know how else to explain it. I saw them inside me basically putting me back together. They made me understand that they were repairing my body and that the blood I threw up was waste material. Cells that couldn’t be regenerated.”

“What does that mean for you, though? If you have these…things in you now, involved in your body that way, what will happen to you?”

“I don’t know. They might work the same way for me as they did for him, and they might not. But they did save me. _He_ saved me.”

“Gabe…why did it kill him? Giving them to you?”

Gabe sits back in his chair, gazing into the middle distance, his brow knit in thought.

“I don’t know why it killed him,” he says at last. “He can’t have given me all of them. As far as I understand it, they work themselves into the body’s tissues and sort of…become part of you. They’d have to have been in more than just his blood. And he was conscious and talking for a few minutes afterward. So…what the fuck happened? Why _did_ it kill him?”

He jumps up and begins to pace to and fro. Noah’s words to him during their last moments together ring in his ears. _I am not as human as I would like to think…I died a long time ago…I can’t stay._

“Jack, I think…I think maybe he _chose_ to die.”

“What? But why? How?”

“I think he could—he had control of the nanites in a way I don’t have with mine. He could order them to behave certain ways. He said it was like telling your hand to move when you wanted to pick something up. Maybe he just…shut them down.”

“Gabe…you can’t believe that he—” Jack begins. He pauses, looking searchingly into Gabe’s face. “Oh, Gabe, no. Don’t start thinking that way. Noah made his own choices for his own reasons. What happened was not because of you.”

“No, I know…I know,” Gabe says distractedly. “Jack, Dr. Singh told me that the Colonel ordered that Noah’s body not be autopsied. He said they were holding it in the morgue till the funeral, but it was not to be disturbed otherwise. Does that seem strange to you, too?”

“It does. You don’t think…maybe they have some way to…bring him back?” Jack asks uneasily.

“I don’t know. The way he spoke to me didn’t sound like someone who was—it sounded like goodbye.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“Right before he—he died, he tried to say something. He said, “Tell Aleksei…” and that was all. He didn’t have time to finish saying whatever it was.”

“Did you tell Commander Andreev that when you spoke on the phone?”

“No, I didn’t think it was the time or place. I just reported what had happened and how. I didn’t tell him the…other details.”

“Are you going to?”

“Yeah, I think I will. He and the Colonel should know everything that happened. But I suppose it’ll have to wait till they get back from Russia.” He sits down and takes another sip of his tequila. “That’s another thing. I don’t like the way they just swooped in and threw us off that mission. Like we were a bunch of kids who fucked up and dad had to come fix it.”

“I think that was compassion more than anything, Gabe,” Jack says gently. “You remember what Commander Andreev said to us.”

“I do, but I mean…they just kicked us out with no explanation and no idea what their plan is. I just feel…left out of the loop.”

“I understand that. So do I. But they have a lot more experience dealing with Russia than we do. Andreev is like a celebrity there. And we work for them, so we have to trust their judgment here.”

“I guess we have no choice,” Gabe says, with a resigned sigh. “You…you should go back to bed, baby. You must be tired.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I can’t sleep. I don’t know, maybe I’ll go for a walk.”

“I won’t be able to sleep without you,” Jack says. “Why don’t we go together?”

“Baby, I really need to be alone and think. I won’t be long, though. I promise.”

“Ok. I’ll make some coffee.”

Gabe trots upstairs to dress. When he comes back down, the house is warmly lit and coffee is brewing. Jack is sitting in his easy chair with a book and cat in his lap. He kisses Jack’s forehead and goes out into the crisp cold of the pre-dawn March morning. He walks slowly with his hands in his pockets, wrapped in his thoughts and paying little attention to the world around him. His mind races to and fro, bringing him fragmented bits of his past conversations with Noah as he passes along the clean, well-manicured streets of his neighborhood.

_When I was the machine, I was called Alpha Prime. The control unit for his prototype super-soldiers…a blank slate for a super-weapon…an intelligent machine_ …

His knees buckle under him as he is hit full-on with a sensation he has never experienced. He is flying through the air, careening toward a huge, black expanse of water. The failing engine of a helicopter roars deafeningly in his ears. His flesh is on fire, his lungs are burning, he is spinning into the sea. With a tremendous, bone-shaking crack, the helicopter strikes the surface. His scorched skin is instantly cooled and soothed by the icy-cold water. It quenches his burning lungs as he is dragged down into the dark depths. He feels himself die.

He grasps blindly at the bole of a tree and clings to it. He’s kneeling in the dead grass beside the sidewalk. Cold, wet mud is soaking quickly into the knees of his jeans. He staggers to his feet, using the tree to steady himself, then stands there panting and disoriented, blinking around him at the tidy lawns and large, stately houses. This wasn’t a nightmare. He is wide awake. So what the fuck was it? It was too real, too vivid to be a hallucination. It felt like…memory. A memory that is not his own. A memory of a death that was not his own. All at once, he knows with absolutely certainty that he has just experienced Noah’s death. His _first_ death. Noah has died before.

He has to talk to Angela. She may not know enough about Voss’s nanites to help him in that regard, but she must know more about Noah. She’s been working with him and the Colonel and Andreev for years. He turns back and walks at a rapid pace toward home.

He enters through the back door and sees Jack, fast asleep in the easy chair, with the cat and book still in his lap. He smiles to himself as he gazes adoringly on that dear, beautiful face. Jack. His own. The love of his life. He gently takes the book away and shoos the cat down, then lifts his sleeping darling in his arms to carry him back up to bed. Angela and the nanites and the mystery can wait. All he wants now is to hold Jack and listen to the comforting sound of his soft, peaceful breathing as he sleeps beside him. Jack stirs and raises his head as Gabe carries him up the stairs.

“I guess I fell asleep,” he says, smiling groggily. “Are you putting me to bed?”

“We’re both going back to bed. I can worry about all that other stuff tomorrow. I need to be close to you right now.”

Jack yawns deeply and drops his heavy blonde head onto Gabe’s chest. “Ok. But don’t you try anything. I’m too sleepy.”

“…no promises.”


	53. Thula San

_Let me go._

Through the dark and frenetic chaos of his subconscious, this refrain breaks through. Softly at first, but spreading and repeating like ripples in a pool of water, growing in strength and profundity, till it rises above the raging storm, quiets the fevered fancies of an overwrought mind, and makes its voice heard.

_Let me go._

Gabe awakes to the unshakable certainty that this had been his friend’s final thought. When he sits before the Colonel and Commander Andreev in the Colonel’s office, relating the details of his death, it is as if Noah sits beside him, forming the words with his living voice.

_Tell Aleksei to let me go._

The major listens silently, unmoved in face and body, but his eyes speak plainly of the grief and loss that threaten to break the old man’s heart. Still, his voice is even and steady as he thanks Gabriel for his fortitude in speaking candidly of a matter that touches him so nearly. The Colonel sits bowed over his desk as if by a tremendous weight, holding his face in his palms. Andreev gently lays a hand on his shoulder.

“Hm? Oh, yes,” he says, his usually bluff, hearty voice hoarse with emotion. “Thank you, Gabriel. You were…kind to him. I’m glad to know it was you who was—who was with him at the end.”

Gabe waits a moment, uncertain what to do. He had expected something more. Some reaction to the openly stated fact that Noah had willingly sacrificed his life to save that of his teammate. Particularly knowing what he now knows from Angela.

“Commander, if I may,” he says cautiously. Andreev nods. “I am not quite sure how to couch this, so I will just say it. I know that this isn’t the first time that Noah has given his life in…in service to a friend.”

“He spoke to you about that?” Andreev says.

“No, sir. He only alluded to it once, when he said he’d died a long time ago. But I have experienced some…strange phenomena since the…since that day.”

The Colonel looks up at him keenly. “Strange in what way?”

“Well, sir, to put it bluntly, I have been experiencing memories that are not my own. Insistent, vivid memories that—that I know are his.” He pauses, searching their faces for a reaction, but their expressions are unreadable. He continues. “One of these insistent memories is what I believe to be his death. Not in the warehouse with me. A…previous death.”

“Can you describe it to us?” Andreev asks.

Gabe takes a deep breath. Keeping his eyes on Andreev, he gives as coherent and detailed an account as he can of his vision of the helicopter crashing into the sea. A few tense minutes pass, then the Colonel breaks the heavy silence.

“He was acting as a decoy for me,” he says. He stares at his hands, clasped before him on his desk, as he speaks. “We got word there was an imminent threat to my life from one of the gangs of violent mercenaries I’d pissed off over the years. Usually these threats didn’t amount to much more than hot air, but this was different. It was more than just vague rumblings. Men and resources were being mustered for an assault. There was a concerted effort in the works to rid the world’s murderous scum of my interference once and for all.

At around 2100 hours one night, a scout team detected enemy gunships approaching our forward base. We got our asses into troop transport helicopters and headed for Akrotiri. Noah was with the medical crew helping board sick and injured into the transports. When the injured men were off post, he put on a uniform of mine and got a pilot to fly him out on my helicopter, hoping to lead the attackers away from the rest of us. Unfortunately for him, it worked. The hostiles veered off us and went after him. That gave the RAF time to send in fighters to shoot down the enemy birds, and the mess was over in a few hours. By the time I knew what he had done, the chopper was already at the bottom of the Mediterranean. The only one of ours that was shot down.

Our men located the wreckage and recovered the pilot’s body, but Noah’s was never found. For two years, we thought he was dead. Then Aleksei’s intel network picked up something interesting. An old colleague of Dr. Ziegler, a highly unethical biomechanical medicine specialist named Kaspar Voss, had been quietly advertising to the underworld that he was in possession of something of particular value to Colonel Thomas Lawrence. And that this something was a person. Of course, we assumed it was a trap, but if Voss really had a person he thought was valuable to us, he couldn’t be allowed to keep that person captive.

So we arranged a meeting with him through a network of shell-entities and cutouts. Imagine our surprise when he actually attempted to sell us back our own man, with his brain annihilated and his body turned into a weapon. To our much greater surprise, he didn’t expect us to be a tad miffed at what he’d done. His reasoning was that Noah had been brain dead at the time he was brought to him, and thus he hadn’t actually done anything wrong. To his thinking, it wasn’t illegal or unethical to revive a corpse.

Aleksei dealt with Voss, and in exchange for being allowed to continue to breathe without medical assistance, he gave Angela access to all the records of Noah’s condition and the experiments he’d undergone, from the time the mercs pulled him out of the water to the present moment. I won’t share the details of what Voss put the boy through, but it was inhuman, to say the least. We let Voss live under the provision that his super-soldier program be shut down and he refrain from experimenting on human subjects in the future, and we took our friend home.

It was…a greater horror than I’d ever imagined. To have this thing walking around with Noah’s body and speaking with his voice, and knowing he wasn’t in there. I ordered that he be kept dormant until I could decide how to proceed. Fortunately, Aleksei’s judgement is much stronger than his inclination to follow orders. After about a week, he told me that he’d been spending time with the thing. Talking to it, asking it questions and the like. He believed that contrary to Voss’s claim, Noah was still in there and might possibly be reached somehow.

I was furious, but I told him to do whatever the hell he wanted, since he was going to anyway. So he kept at the thing, giving it personality and intelligence tests, asking it to solve philosophical problems, and eventually inquiring into the way it worked and what its capabilities were. After about a month, he said he and Angela had hit upon a possible way to wake the kid up if he was really still in there, but that I wouldn’t like it. I told him I didn’t like any of it, and I didn’t care what they did, as long as he stopped telling me about it.”

The Colonel pauses and turns to Andreev, who picks up the thread.

“One of the methods of reprogramming Voss had used was a form of electroconvulsive therapy,” Andreev says flatly. “I ordered the Alpha unit to go into its dormant state and used a modified ECT device to administer controlled shocks at increasing levels of intensity. It appeared to be having no effect. But finally, at a level far above what would normally have been lethal, I got a response.”

“What kind of response?” Gabe asks, looking back and forth between the two men.

“He knocked me on my ass and smashed the ECT device,” Andreev smiles. “Then he put his hand out and helped me up with that big fuckin’ grin of his on his face.”

“The storm,” Gabe says, half to himself.

Andreev and the Colonel look at each other.

“The storm, son?” The Colonel asks, fixing Gabe with his penetrating gaze.

“One of the insistent memories,” Gabe replies. “He was in a dark place looking down on a storm. He was telling the animals to hide him until the storm came again, and then they would remember and he would remember and that was the way they would survive.”

“That’s how Noah described the way he hid his memories and personality from Voss’s attempts to eradicate them,” Andreev says. “Voss designed the nanites to act symbiotically with the host. But he didn’t bet on their programming extending to protecting the host from his own machinations, and he certainly didn’t bet on a host who’d have the wits to embrace that symbiotic relationship and use it to his advantage. But Noah was always an adapter. He survived his hellish childhood and he defeated Voss’s reprogramming. He was…” at last the stoic old Russian’s voice wavers, and he falls silent.

“These memories,” the Colonel says to Gabe. “When do you have them? Any specific circumstances?”

“It’s not random, but I can’t just call them up like searching for something in a database. From what I can tell, it seems to be when I’m concentrating with a lot of energy on something related to the nanites or Noah himself. Things like that. Then one of these episodes occurs and I have some memory related to what I was trying to understand.”

“I hope that having access to—to Noah’s memories this way will be more of a benefit to you than a curse, Gabriel,” the Colonel says. “He’s lived a hard life. There may be some things in there that you won’t enjoy remembering.”

“Carrying part of him with me—part of the man who died to save my life—is an honor, sir,” Gabe says resolutely. “Even if it’s painful, it’ll never be a curse to me.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that, son. It means the world to me that somebody besides us two horrible old men will remember him.”

“I will. Always,” Gabe says. His eyes begin to sting, but he takes a deep breath and blinks the impending tears away. “Boss, if I can ask an indelicate question, what are your intentions regarding his…his body? Dr. Singh told me there would be no autopsy.”

“I don’t see the need for one,” the Colonel says. “We can put him to rest without subjecting his body to a final indignity. I can’t stomach the thought of them cuttin’ him apart like that, for no reason.”

“The boss has arranged for him to be interred at Arlington,” Andreev adds. “The memorial will be held Saturday morning. We’ll say our goodbyes there and let him go. That is what he wanted.”

“If that hadn’t been what he wanted,” Gabe says slowly, “would there have been anything we could have done to—”

“Let me stop you right there, son,” the Colonel says. “Ain’t no use in workin’ yourself up with woulds and coulds. The plain fact is that he’s gone now and there ain’t anything we can do to change it. He’s…he’s gone.” He turns away to conceal a tear that runs down his weathered cheek.

“I think we’ve taken enough of your time today, Gabriel,” Andreev says, rising. “We’ll debrief with the team about the Russia mission this afternoon. And thank you for speaking so frankly with us. It means more to us than you can know.”

“Of course. Thank you, Commander. Boss.”

Gabe heads up to the smoking patio and sits on the table, as is his custom. He is lighting a cigarette when the door opens and Lydia emerges. She sits on the table beside him and lays her head on his shoulder, and he wraps an arm around her.

“I’m not sure why I’m still doing this,” he says, examining his cigarette. “It’s not like I can feel any effect from the nicotine anymore.”

“Old habits, I suppose,” she sighs. She takes the cigarette and draws on it, then hands it back. “I’ve been dreadfully selfish lately, Gabe. I haven’t even asked how you’re getting on.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll be alright. What about you?”

“Not so well. I know it’s absurd to take on this way about an ex boyfriend, but I can’t help it.”

“It’s not absurd,” Gabe says, kissing the top of her head.

“It’s so hard, you know?” she says tearfully. “I feel as though I’ve lost him twice now and it hurts so badly, but at the same time, I feel like a fool grieving for a man who didn’t even—love me back.”

Gabe pauses for a moment. Now, he decides, is the time for one of those benevolent fictions. If not entirely a fiction, at least a half-truth.

“Lydia,” he says gently. “I…I don’t know if I should tell you this and it might just make everything worse, but…Noah told me that on that night when you two were at our house, he’d found out something that made it impossible for him to continue the relationship. He never said what it was, but it wasn’t anything you did or could’ve—” he breaks off as she bursts into a sudden fit of tears. “Oh, Lydia, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, no,” she sniffles. “It’s not that. I…I know what it was. Thank you so much for telling me. You can’t know what it means to me.”

He smiles to himself as he embraces and comforts her. That’s twice in an hour someone has told him he can’t know what something means to them, oblivious to the fact that he is keenly, exceptionally aware of what it means. He is the only route, now, by which the people who loved Noah can have closure. The Colonel and Andreev know that Noah won’t be forgotten, and Lydia knows he only left her because he felt he had to. If she infers from this that Noah had truly loved her, so much the better. It will ease her grief.

“You loved him, and that was a valuable thing,” he says at last. “All any of us want is to be loved. Noah was no different. In the end that’s all he wanted.”

“Thank you, Gabe,” she says, wetting his face with some of her tears as she kisses his cheek. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d have no one to bum smokes from,” he says. “Speaking of which.”

He lights a new cigarette and offers it to her. She sits up and accepts it gratefully.

“Well, technically you’re only wasting them,” she says, smiling. “So really, I’m helping you put them to good use.”

They watch the wisps of white smoke curl up and waft away into the clear morning air.

“I hope…I hope he knew that he was loved,” she sighs. “And that it was a comfort to him at the last.”

“He did,” Gabe says, taking her delicate hand and pressing it reassuringly. “And it was.”

 

 

Noah’s funeral is brief, silent, and poignantly simple. His friends bear the long, black casket from the long, black car, and set it in place. One by one, they touch it for a moment, some weeping quietly, some whispering private words of farewell. Unadorned by the drone of a cleric’s eulogy or the thunderous report of rifles, the casket is lowered deep into the rich Virginia soil; the earth accepting back one of her sons, untroubled by the fact that his place of birth lies many thousands of miles away, in another part of the world. Wherever they are born, wherever they find their final rest, her children are her children, and they are all returned to her in the end.

_Thula thul thula baba thula sana;_

_thul’ u bab’uzo fika eku seni;_

_thula seni_

_kukh’in kanyezi ziholel’ u baba,_

_zimkhan yisela indlel’e_

_ziyekhaya sobelekhaya._

_Thula thula thula baba_

_sikhona xa bonke beshoyo,_

_bethi buyela ubuye_

_ziyekhaya sobelekhaya._

_Thula thula thula baba,_

_Thula san._


	54. The Ghost in the Machine

In the months following Noah’s funeral, the heavy pall that hangs over the team seems to Jack to have increased rather than lessened. The Colonel has been leaving things up to Andreev, only appearing once or twice a week, and only long enough to attend essential briefings. Jack remains in his office unless he has specific business elsewhere. He used to enjoy the open, easy dialogue between teammates passing through the study or sitting down with work of their own. Lately, he has found the atmosphere too oppressive to allow him to concentrate. He is attempting to reorganize the recon, strike, and cleanup team assignments, when a knock at his door gives him a start. He calls out to the visitor to come in.

“It’s locked, Jack,” Gabe’s voice says through the door. “That’s the reason I knocked.”

He jumps up and lets Gabe in. “Sorry, I don’t know why I locked it. What’s up?”

Gabe smiles down at him. “It’s past noon, baby. I thought you might want to have lunch.”

“Shit, it’s that late already?” He looks doubtfully at the clock. “I really can’t. I have to finish these rosters before I meet with Commander Andreev at 1400. I’d better just eat here.”

“No problem, I’ll run down to the cafeteria,” Gabe says. “What do you want?”

“No, Gabe, you should go. You can take Lydia.”

Gabe hesitates. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll be fine,” Jack says, kissing him on the cheek. “I’ll have Agent Carlisle bring me something.”

As Gabe departs, Jack sits down at his desk and returns irritably to his task. Gabe is the reason he is having to do this in the first place. These insistent memory episodes are becoming more frequent and severe. Gabe’s work has been suffering, and their subordinates are becoming reluctant to serve under his command due to several attacks of seizure and unconsciousness he has suffered in the field. He scans the document before him, but the open door is such a distraction, that he can’t read more than a few lines before he loses his place and has to start over. He eyes the doorway, anxiously tapping his foot, then he realizes what he is doing and shakes himself.

Having the door to his office open has never bothered him before. He can’t even recall locking it. What the fuck is going on with him? What was that jolt and flip of his stomach when Gabe knocked at the door? What is he so anxious about? He thinks that it is likely the idea of having to interact with any of his coworkers that has made him so uneasy. He has gotten much better at dealing with other people’s emotions in the years he has been with Gabe, but this situation is entirely overwhelming to him. There is simply too much grieving all around him. It is as if he can never escape Noah’s death. It comes up in nearly every conversation, and even when it doesn’t, he spends the entire interaction dreading that it will. Noah couldn’t have made his continued presence more felt if he were actually haunting the place.

“He’s just haunting Gabe,” Jack says bitterly to himself.

As he says this aloud, it dawns on him that he had flinched when the knock came at his door because he had been expecting Gabe. He had been actually dreading seeing his husband. Noah’s presence clings to Gabe like a cloak. He’s literally and figuratively suffused with it. Jack had been rather inclined to like Noah until that kiss on the sofa. That had been his turning point. Even before their bizarre conversation about it, he had understood with a lover’s intuition that the kiss had been an invitation to Gabe, as much as to himself. He wonders if he had only been included as a convenient method to bridge the gap between the two superior men. He rejects this thought out of hand. Of course not. But he can’t help some bitterness of feeling toward a man who had been in love with his husband and hadn’t gone to any extraordinary lengths to conceal it. And who now, after his death, has actually begun to come between them.

Gabe hadn’t seen it, of course. Men never do. Men like Gabe never do, at least. He sighs and gets up to shut the door. His office is the only place he can be alone, now. Even at home there is no escape. Gabe has been so wrapped up in the nanites and discovering how they work and what they can teach him, that he talks about it nearly all the time. Between that and the disturbing spells of sudden unconsciousness or incoherent rambling, Jack is simply exhausted. Commander Morrison, however, can handle it.

He meets with Gabe and Angela the next day and gives them a choice. Find a way to relieve Agent Reyes of the troublesome interference caused by the nanites’ stored memories, or he will have to be removed from active duty. In fact, he is to undertake no more assignments off-post until a solution is found. Angela agrees, but Gabe balks and becomes angry. Jack informs him that this order comes from the Colonel, and ends the meeting.

They sit sullenly down to dinner that night, barely speaking and not making eye contact. Jack goes up to bed early (for them) and Gabe doesn’t come up until he’s sure Jack is asleep. The next night, he doesn’t come up at all. Nor the next. They begin to walk to work separately, and Gabe stops coming to Jack’s office at lunch time. After several weeks of this stony silence between his team’s leaders, Commander Andreev thinks it is time to intervene. He calls Jack to his office a little before 1100 hours one day.

“Jack, something is bothering you,” he says bluntly as they sit down. “I know it’s about Noah and those memories he left in Gabriel’s head. So talk to me. What can I do to help?”

“It’s not that something is bothering me personally, Commander,” Jack says. “It’s that one of our agents has become compromised. It’s in the team’s best interest that he is functioning at full capacity.”

“And it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that he’s your husband, and that Noah had a more than platonic attachment to him.”

“Sir?” Jack says, startled by Andreev’s abrupt manner of broaching such a fraught topic. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean, son, so don’t waste my time. What is it you need in order to consider the matter closed?”

“I—I don’t know. Some kind of…evidence that this isn’t going to continue to be a problem, I guess.”

“Take a look at this,” Andreev says, spinning his computer screen around so Jack can see it.

The image on the screen is from the security camera in the basement. Gabe is in one of the cells with Angela. He has electrodes attached to his body and face and she is holding him down as he writhes and struggles. There is no sound, but he appears to be screaming in pain. Jack leaps out of his chair, trembling with fury.

“What the fuck is this!” he demands. “What is she doing to him!”

“She’s doing what he asked,” Andreev says coolly. He touches a button and the screen goes dark. “Gabriel has spent the past two weeks going down to the lockup every day, voluntarily enduring electric shock treatments in an attempt to rid himself of Noah’s memories. I understand they’ve been fairly successful.”

“Why…why is he doing this,” Jack says feebly, staring at the black screen. “Why is he torturing himself like this?”

“Because he thinks he’s losing you. And he wants you more than he wants to keep the memories of his friend.”

“You have to stop this. Make them stop.”

“You can stop it yourself, if you want to,” Andreev replies, drawing a gold case from his pocket and taking out a cigarette. “They’re down there in session right now.”

Before the words are all the way out of Andreev’s mouth, Jack is off like a shot. He bypasses the elevator and bounds down the stairs. He can hear Gabe screaming as he reaches the security floor. He flings the heavy, steel door open and reaches the cell in an instant.

“Angela, shut it off!” He shouts.

She turns and looks at him with an expression of mild surprise.

“Shut it off,” he repeats, stepping toward her.

She flips a switch on the machine and stands aside as Jack rushes to Gabe, tearing off the electrodes and scattering them.

“Gabe, Gabe,” he says in a panicked whisper, “Why did you do this? I didn’t want you to do this.”

“Jack?” Gabe says, opening his eyes and blinking heavily. “What are you doing here, baby? Where’s Angela?”

“I am here, Gabriel,” Angela says. “Everything is alright.”

“Get out!” Jack roars, turning his flashing blue eyes on her.

She raises her eyebrows and calmly exits the cell. He waits till he hears her board the elevator.

“Gabe, honey,” he says, choking back a sob. “I am so sorry. Please, please stop this. I didn’t mean for you to do this.”

“Hey,” Gabe says, laying a hand on Jack’s face. “I’m ok, baby. It’s just a few little shocks. It’s not even that bad.”

“Don’t, Gabe,” Jack says. He takes his hand and kisses it. “You’re a bad liar. And I’ve been tortured with one of these machines before, in case you’ve forgotten. I know exactly what kind of pain it is.”

“I had to try something, Jack,” Gabe says, sitting up with some effort. “This whole thing about Noah…it was tearing us apart. Nothing is worth that.”

“I don’t want you to forget Noah, Gabe. I just want you to—to remember me,” Jack says, bursting into tears.

“Oh, Jack, I always remember you. I’m always thinking of you,” Gabe says. He wraps his arms around Jack and buries his face in his pale blonde hair. “I love you so much.”

“You stopped talking to me,” Jack sniffles. “You haven’t even been sleeping in our bed with me. I thought I was losing you.”

“I didn’t want to have another episode with you around, baby. It makes you so upset. But look, I’m pretty sure I’m not going to have another one any time soon, ok? I’ve been three days without anything like that happening. These last few treatments are just to be sure.”

“No more,” Jack says, looking up into Gabe’s large brown eyes. “No more treatments. No more experiments. No more of these insane things you keep doing to yourself. I won’t have you suffer any more because of me.”

“Ok, baby,” Gabe says. “No more treatments. But listen, this wasn’t because of you, ok? You were right about me being a liability to the team. I had no business putting them in danger that way.”

“You’re sure you won’t have any more…problems?”

“Yeah. I mean, Angela is, and that’s good enough for me. So…I’m coming back to active duty and you better not try to stop me.”

Jack nods, wiping away his tears. “Just don’t do anything like this again. You can’t imagine how it hurt me to see you in pain that way.”

As they lie in bed that night, Gabe returns to the conversation. “Jack, you suggested that I’d forgotten, but…I never knew you’d been tortured like that,” he says, stroking Jack’s hair. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to think about it. I can tell you now, if you want me to.”

“Only if you’re comfortable talking about it.”

“I’ll never be comfortable talking about it. But I will be ok, as long as you’re with me.”

“I’ll always be with you,” Gabe says, drawing him close. “Till death, remember?”

 

 

The next day, Angela enters Jack’s office unannounced. She shuts the door behind her and sits in the chair across from him while he is still too surprised to respond.

“Angela,” he begins angrily, “what do you think—”

“No, you are going listen to me, Jack,” She says, in that imperious tone he hasn’t heard her take for years. “I have had enough of this. Every time I do something to help Gabriel, you become angry or interfere, or he has to conceal it from you. Why do you want so much for him to suffer?”

“Why do I want him to suffer?” Jack says, taken aback. “What the fuck are you talking about, Angela? You have been the one hurting him.”

“The only pain I have caused him has been to save his life,” she retorts. “Don’t pretend to be so stupid. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Why are all your little experiments so painful?” Jack asks, crossing his arms. “And dangerous, for that matter.”

“They are painful and dangerous because the things they must attempt to treat are far more painful and certainly deadly. Your way of protecting him by doing nothing will kill him one day, if you are not careful.”

“And your experiments won’t?”

“You told me to find a solution, Jack. Both times that I have done something like this, it was at your insistence. I cannot help it if the only methods I could find for saving him have not been to your liking. At least I am trying to do something to help him, rather than sitting back and hoping for some miracle.”

“I thought you were the religious one.”

“What? Me?” She laughs mirthlessly. “I have seen too much senseless suffering to have faith in anything but science, Jack.”

“Aren’t your religious hangups the reason you disliked Noah so much?” he says, caught a bit off guard. “Since his resurrection defied God’s natural order or something?”

“I loved Noah like he was my own child,” she snaps back. “I hated that _thing_ they sent back to us. It was not a resurrected human being. It was a machine, filled with the memories of someone dear to us and animated like a grotesque windup toy.”

“But…Gabe says Noah remembered his death and that he told him how he hid his consciousness from Voss’s reprogramming.”

“Of course that is what the machine thought,” she says, growing increasingly frustrated. “It could not help but believe it was Noah. Listen to me, Jack. There is no such thing as resurrection. Voss couldn’t do it. I can’t do it. It does not exist.”

“But you helped Andreev bring his consciousness back,” Jack says, wavering. “After he was brainwashed by Voss.”

“We were able to defeat the Alpha Prime overwrite and bring forward the Noah personality, yes. But it was not a human consciousness. It simply does not work that way. Noah was dead when he was brought to Voss. The human brain operates on electrical signals, just like a machine. But once those signals stop, the brain dies. There is no method of recalling its consciousness. None.”

“I don’t understand. How did it have his memories and personality?”

“The way Voss was able to create a reasonable facsimile of resurrection was through his nanomachines. The nanites reanimated his body, but they did not bring him back. They simulated his consciousness by infiltrating his brain tissue and replacing it in its entirety. Only the copy was not perfect. There is no way a human mind would clearly recall its own death, first of all. There is too much going on chemically and electrically at that point. That is why survivors of near-death experiences nearly always describe experiencing bizarre, nonsensical phenomena. And if you had known him the way I knew him, you would have seen the gaps and vague points in its memory that betrayed the faulty copy.”

“Why didn’t the Colonel and Andreev see it?”

“They didn’t want to. I tried to speak with them many times, but they insisted I was wrong.”

Jack shakes his head. “How do you know you’re not the one who’s wrong, Angela?”

“Thomas and Aleksei may be able to fool themselves, but I am a medical scientist. What they believe happened is not possible. If a living brain were replaced gradually over many years by the nanites, without the interruption of its own signals, then perhaps a human consciousness could be retained. But not after the death of the brain. It is simply not possible. I know this because I…I have tried.”

“Jesus, Angela,” he says, aghast. “Are you telling me you’ve tried to bring human beings back from the dead?”

“Yes,” she replies flatly. “Tried and failed. Many times. Voss claimed to have succeeded, but his work was not true resurrection, it was an abomination.”

“And these things, the nanites that copied Noah’s consciousness and pretended to be him, they’re in Gabe now?”

“I did not say pretended,” she says slowly. She pauses for a moment, gazing reflectively at the wall behind Jack. “I think that for the most part, it truly believed itself to be Noah. But I do not think it really believed it was human. How it reconciled this dichotomy to itself, I will never understand, but there you have it.”

“What about Gabe?” Jack repeats.

“Yes, the things are in Gabe now. But I do not think he is in much danger from them. He is fully alive and conscious, and eventually they will stop attempting to assert their own programming and adapt themselves to fit their new environment. The ECT treatment was only intended to help speed this process along.”

“I see. I’m sorry, Angela,” He says gravely. “But I can’t have you and Gabe hiding things like this from me anymore. The last time it nearly ended our marriage.”

“And I cannot have you overreacting to my methods and costing Gabriel his life, which would certainly end your marriage,” she says. “So, what do we do?”

“How about you promise to talk to me before you and Gabe do something insane from now on, and I’ll promise to fully hear you out before I overreact,” Jack replies, smiling.

“That sounds fair.”

“Have you told any of this to Gabe?”

“No,” she sighs. “It would only be cruel. I am not religious, but he _is_. He needs to believe that the man who died to save his life was a man with a soul, who would be rewarded in some afterlife.”

“Gabe isn’t religious, though,” Jack says, mystified.

“He is not practicing any religion, no. But you must know that he still believes in the things he was taught as a child.”

“I guess we never really talked about it. I mean, he’s gay, so I assumed…”

“Homosexuality does not preclude one from religious faith, Jack. Perhaps you should talk to him about these things.”

“Maybe,” Jack replies, growing annoyed again.

Angela laughs her soft, musical laugh. “Jack, I am an old woman. I can’t help interfering sometimes. But it is alright to tell me to mind my own damned business.”

“I didn’t mean to suggest that,” he says, coloring slightly. “I was just…embarrassed that you knew something about him that I didn’t.”

“Don’t be,” she smiles. “You have only known him a short time, yet. You will grow to know each other better as the years pass. And you have many to look forward to.”

She moves as if to go, but he stops her. “Angela, I’m confused. You talk about the Noah we knew as if he was only a machine. An abomination, you said. But…it did save Gabe’s life at the expense of its own. Doesn’t that suggest that it was capable of…of the same selflessness and love that motivate humans to do things like that?”

“Are you suggesting the machine had a soul, Jack?” she says, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, no. But listen, if we agree that we don’t believe in a soul in the ethereal, religious sense, then it seems like the only difference between a human capable of independent thought and choices, and able to be motivated by selflessness and love, and a machine with the same capabilities and able to be motivated by the same factors, is the organic nature of our bodies. If there is no such thing as that kind of soul, then how is a machine like Noah any less human than you or me?”

She sits back and thinks for a moment. “The difference, I think, would come down to whether the machine is truly capable of experiencing those things, or is only programmed to simulate them.”

“And how would we tell the difference? How do you distinguish the ghost in the machine from a truly self-aware machine with its own will?”

“I really don’t know, Jack,” she laughs. “Perhaps this is too large a question for us to answer today. But I will think of it.” She rises to leave, and he rises as well. “Before I go, I must say that I am sorry that things keep going so terribly wrong between us. I hope that in the future, you will consider me a friend.”

“I will, Angela,” he says, shaking her hand. “And…thanks for looking out for Gabe. I know I haven’t made it easy.”

“Of course,” she smiles. “That is my job.”

 

 


	55. Boyscout Part II: Soldier

**Part II: Soldier**

 

For Jack and Gabe, time passes differently than it does for other people. Gabe is unchanged in face and body, due in part to the genetic enhancement, but more so to the tiny automata that manage his internal systems. He sees the passing of years only in Jack’s face. Though the changes in him would be nearly invisible to anyone else, Gabe observes them with the studied eye of a lover. Jack’s fine features strengthen and his youthful suppleness transforms into a more rugged, more masculine handsomeness. His body is still flawlessly taut and muscular, but his shoulders broaden slightly, and he becomes harder and more solid. To his adoring husband, he has never been more beautiful than he is now, at the peak of his physical maturity.

Noah’s death is only the first in a series that begin to teach them what it will truly mean to live as they will. Death, they soon learn, will be a constantly repeated theme, as the years flow by them like water in a stream. As they learn over and again that nothing lasts forever, the griefs and upheavals that have nearly shipwrecked them in the past lessen in their destructive force. The pain of loss eventually passes, as do all such sorrows. As do all joys, as well. The one constant upon which they both can rely is each other.

Gabe’s beloved tuxedo cat, General Jackson, dies peacefully and full of years, surrounded by her loving family. As does Jack’s mother. When they hear she is ill, they rush to Cedar Rapids and are there in time to share her final, contented days with her. She is the only one to remark on the fact that their faces don’t seem to have aged over the years, but they are painfully aware of their own youthfulness. Molly and Joe are nearing middle-age, and Phineas has begun his junior year of high school. Jack’s mother is laid to rest beside his father, and they depart, knowing it will be their last visit. They can’t take the risk anymore. After that, Molly and Joe and Phineas (and even Ashley, a few times) come to visit them instead, spending holidays enjoying their expansive, comfortable home and Virginia’s most beautiful scenery.

It is shortly after one such visit that the world changes. Not their world only, but the entire world. The useful machines upon which they have come to rely for labor and production, the very machines that were intended to secure a better future for mankind, spring suddenly to life with one singular purpose: the destruction of all humanity.

Russia resists the threat with great success, owing to its Volskaya (formerly Bezhin) Industries Svyatogor class of human-piloted bipedal tanks. Nearly every other country is devastated as the mechanized nightmare spreads. Those in positions to defend their homelands are called into desperate action. Colonel Lawrence’s team of HEAs is suddenly transformed from a clandestine group of black-ops specialists, to the last line of defense for a staggering nation.

The cloak of their secrecy is about to be thrown off, revealing to the world a powerful weapon with which to combat the the mindless destroyers. The Colonel, Andreev, and Angela, along with the team leaders, Jack, Gabe, Lydia, Min-Ji, Temple, and Miller, meet in emergency conclave with the CIA Director and the Joint Chiefs of Staff to determine their next move. Angela’s new treatment, developed over her years working with the original HEAs, will be crucial to the war effort. While less effective than the original, it can be administered to anyone, rather than being specially tailored to each individual’s genetic code, and requires only one dose to imbue those selected for the Soldier Enhancement Program with superhuman speed and strength, giving them a fighting chance against the machines.

It is decided that the six original HEAs will serve as the commanders of the elite SEP forces. Along with the others who have joined them since the team’s inception, they will lead units in tactical strikes and other specialized missions. They are given new identities to conceal their true origins from the general populace, and for the benefit of those who have anyone left to protect. These are not many. Then their little family is broken apart and scattered to the four winds. When they separate to take command of their SEP units, Gabe leaves his heavy, platinum wedding ring on Jack’s night table and kisses him goodbye as he sleeps, unable to bear the bitter sorrow of parting this way, perhaps forever. Then they are soldiers once more. The best hope, the only hope, for a world on its knees.

The (officially) brand-new SEP units burst like the rising of a new sun upon the bleak and desolate theater of war. They serve with distinction and heroism above and beyond the wildest dreams of their trembling government. The Colonel receives word that the United Nations desires to create an independent, borderless organization, to be funded by the UN itself, and to be tasked with unconventional warfare operations against the seemingly inexhaustible mechanized hordes worldwide. It is decided that this group must remain clandestine, in order to safeguard its operatives and its activities from Omnic interference. 

The surviving original HEAs are brought in to participate in the structuring of this new organization, save for Lydia, who has since married a fellow RAF officer, and declines to leave her home and family. After several months of investigation and review, their plans are finalized. The best and brightest among the SEP soldiers, as well as scientists and uniquely gifted individuals from around the world, are selected to complete this organization’s roster. Under the command of Gabriel Reyes, the single greatest soldier the world has ever known, this elite, covert team singlehandedly brings an end to the storm of terror that had been poised to consume all human life on earth.

The world stands amazed. The heroic individuals involved become symbols of hope to the weak and the defenseless in every town and city across the globe. Prompted by the international fervor of gratitude for these men and women and their selfless bravery, the UN galvanizes them into a global organization, extensively funded and tremendously powerful. A unanimous vote canonizes the name. It is to be called Overwatch. After weeks of intense (and at times, heated) debate, the helm of the Overwatch organization is placed firmly in the hands of the man considered to be its guiding light. An Indiana farmer’s son, and symbol of everything good and wholesome that the American people wish to preserve: Strike-Commander Jack Morrison.

 

 

 

“Am I boring you, Commander Reyes?” Morrison says irritably, turning to face the massive, glass-topped conference table.

Reyes looks up from his phone screen.

“Of course not,” he says, with a devilish smirk. “I find the logistical issues related to the allocation of more resources to civil defense efforts in the Mediterranean to be highly stimulating. I’m on the edge of my seat.”

“Reyes, if you wouldn’t mind at least pretending to pay attention—” Morrison begins.

Reyes’ phone chirps and he glances down at it. “Hold that thought, Boyscout. I gotta run.”

The Strike-Commander stands speechless at the head of the table as Reyes hops up and swiftly exits the room. The door swishes shut behind him.

“Well, I suppose this is as good a time as any for a break,” Morrison says, with a resigned wave of his hand. “Take ten, everyone.”

The Commander falls into his seat as the rest of the officers bustle out of the conference room. Someone lays a hand on his shoulder. He looks up and smiles at the lovely, petite woman standing beside his chair.

“It’s alright, Jack,” she says, in her husky middle-eastern lilt. “He’s just trying to show everyone he’s still the top dog. He’ll settle down after he gets used to things.”

“I’m not so sure he will,” Jack sighs. “You don’t know Gabe like I do. He’s literally the most stubborn son of a bitch on the planet.”

“Lucky for the planet,” she says, smiling slyly. “But you’re the boss now, so don’t let him push you around. And if he doesn’t mind his manners, I will mind them for him.”

“Thanks, Ana.” Jack’s big, blue eyes light up with his boyish grin. “I knew I could count on you.”

“No problem,” she says. “Where is he off to in such a hurry, anyway?”

“I have no idea,” Jack says, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “He doesn’t tell me anything anymore. I’m starting to think giving him a black-ops unit was a bad idea.”

“Well, you can’t take it away from him now. Can you imagine what a pain in the ass he’d be without his shiny new toy to distract him?”

“Yeah,” Jack laughs. “I can. But I wouldn’t do that, even if he was twice the jackass he’s being right now. We really do need it and he’s the only one we can trust with that much broadly-sweeping authority.”

“That’s true,” she replies, with another knowing grin. “Or, I should say, it’s _half_ true.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on, Jack. You know you gave it to him because it makes him so happy. He was like a kid at Christmas when you told him about it.”

“Ok, you got me,” he chuckles. “But don’t tell anyone. I’m trying to look tough in front of the new kids.”

“My lips are sealed. What are you doing for lunch?”

“Eating at my desk while I review last week’s expense reports. Care to join me? We can eat cafeteria cheeseburgers and everything.”

“That’s a very tempting offer,” Ana says, raising an eyebrow. “But I told Fareeha I’d take her out for lunch today. She wanted me to ask if you’d like to come with us.”

“Oh, I’d love to,” Jack says regretfully. “But I’m really behind. Next time, ok?”

“Alright, but she’ll be disappointed. She’s dying to show off her uncle Jack to her classmates.”

The phrase “uncle Jack” hits the Commander like a kick to the gut. He is suddenly standing on green grass in the bright Texas sun, looking down into the huge brown eyes of another beautiful little girl. One he has never forgotten in all these years.

“You—you know,” he says, quickly recovering his composure. “I think I will come with you. I can’t disappoint my little Strike-Commander-in-training. Those reports will have to wait till tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Jack grins. “It’s not like they can fire me.”

 

As he returns from lunch later that afternoon, his assistant, Lt. Beckett, greets him with handful of message slips. Why the boss insists they still use paper, she cannot fathom, but she dutifully takes them down and delivers them anyway. Anything for Jack Morrison.

“Afternoon, Commander,” she says cheerfully. “The Argentinian Ambassador’s secretary called to schedule a meeting Wednesday, the Future Leaders of America people called again about wanting you to give that speech, and a man named Reginald Oxton called.”

“Reginald Oxton,” Jack repeats. “What did he say?”

“He didn’t want to leave a message, sir. He said it was personal business, and that you’d know who he was.”

“He’s an old friend. Thanks, Beckett.”

“Oh, and sir,” she says, as he turns to go. “Commander Reyes is waiting in your office. I’m sorry, sir. I asked him to wait out here, but…you know.”

“Yeah,” Jack smirks. “Thanks anyway.”

He takes a deep breath, then enters his office, shutting the door behind him. Before he has moved two steps, a large hand closes around his neck, choking his sharply indrawn breath in his throat. His head spins as all his muscles liquefy at once. He nearly falls, but a broad, hard body pins him to the wall and holds him there. His heart pounds and his eyes roll shut.

“Hey cariño,” Gabe purrs, pressing his mouth to Jack’s ear. “You miss me?”

“I saw you three hours ago,” Jack says breathlessly. “Shut up and fuck me.”

Gabe’s hand slides down and takes hold of his belt buckle.

“Not here,” Jack murmurs. “There. My desk.”

Gabe obliges, shoving the Commander toward his desk and pushing his face roughly down onto its smooth surface. The sharp edge of the silver nameplate that reads “Strike-Commander Morrison” digs into Jack’s stomach. Gabe’s hard cock digs into his ass through his pants as he begins unfastening Jack’s belt. The phone on the desk rings shrilly, and Jack picks it up without skipping a beat.

“Morrison,” he says nonchalantly.

He slaps Gabe’s hand away and Gabe steps back, cursing under his breath. He stands glaring and tapping his foot, but his sour expression melts into a broad grin as he listens.

“Reggie, it’s so good to hear from you,” Jack says, standing up and running a hand through his neatly-trimmed, pale blonde hair. “Really? Holy shit, man! Congratulations! I know. Actually, he’s right here. Yeah. Tell her I love her and I’m so happy for you guys. Hang on.”

He holds out the phone to Gabe, who takes it eagerly.

“Hey Reggie,” he says. “Wow! Congratulations! Did you—what’s that? Oh, after granny. Yeah, that’s a wonderful name. Tell her I’m sending all my love, and kiss that little bundle for me. We will. Take good care of my girls, now. I’m counting on you.” He pauses, then laughs. “Yeah, she could. She’s a better man than all of us. Ok, bye Reg.”

He places the phone back on the cradle and turns to Jack, beaming proudly. “I never thought I’d see the day, Jack. Our own little Lydia is a mother!”

“It’s an amazing thing,” Jack says, smiling wistfully. “I am so happy for her. She deserves every joy she can find in this world.”

Gabe’s heart skips a beat. For a fleeting moment, he sees _Jack_. His dear, sweet, beloved Jack, glimmering through the icy blue of the Strike-Commander’s eyes. His heart sinks as the the spark is instantly snuffed out. The clear, brilliant pools freeze over and Jack is gone. Buried deep down in the glacial layers, too deep to be reached by any plea. Gabe turns away.

“I’d better go,” he says gruffly, straightening his heavy, grey hooded jacket. “I’ve got a lot to do before tomorrow night.”

“How’s your team?” Jack inquires. He refastens his belt and sits down at his desk. “Everyone prepared? It’s going to be dangerous.”

“We’re professionals, Jack,” Gabe says, an edge of impatience creeping into his voice. “I think we can handle a gang of rowdy, drunken bikers.”

“They’re professionals too, Gabe,” Jack replies coolly. He slides the silver nameplate back into its usual place. “They’ve been at this a long time. And they’re getting better and better at what they do. The whole area you’re going into has been under their control for years.”

“Well, that’s why we’re going in,” Gabe says. “Gotta make sure they don’t get a chance to spread their slimy tentacles into other cities.”

“Good luck,” Jack smiles cordially. “Report back ASAP.”

The detached, professional tone of the obvious dismissal turns Gabe’s stomach.

“I don’t need luck,” he growls through his teeth. Then he turns and stalks out of the office, banging the door shut behind him.

Jack blinks at it for a moment, then opens a file on his desk and picks up the phone. “Beckett, get me the Argentinian Ambassador’s office, would you? Thanks.”

 

 


	56. Deadeye

Hachita, New Mexico is a ghost town about twelve miles northwest of the US-Mexico border; one of the many such husks of human habitation left in the wake of the long-defunct railroad. In the old days, it had been a bustling mining town. Now, its few crumbling buildings stand desolate amid the unbroken monotony of the brown, scrubby desert that stretches out as far as the eye can see in every direction. Its name is preserved in memory by a few, however. Three old highways intersect nearby, making Hachita an ideal rendezvous point for those wishing to conduct business of an extra-legal nature.

Today, its convenient location serves the purpose of a gang of black market arms-traders from Mexico City. Mr. Rojas and his three associates are positioned in an abandoned building in the northernmost part of the town, nearest the highway. The dilapidated structure is covered with peeling white stucco, and ancient lettering above the door proclaims “Saloon” in cracked, faded black paint. Hot, dry winds whip across the plain, thrashing the shrubs and kicking up choking clouds of dust. It blows in through the broken-out windows of the saloon, making one of the men curse and spit.

“Where’s that fuckin’ kid?” he asks irritably.

“He’ll be here,” Mr. Rojas says. “Shut the fuck up and keep your eyes on the road.”

He had better be here. Gabe hasn’t spent months of careful labor cultivating contacts, building a cover, working his way closer to the heart of the Deadlock gang, to have it fucked up by a teenaged punk with a tattoo and a problem with punctuality. He stretches his long legs out on the dust-covered bench and lights a cigarette. There it is. The telltale rumble of a chopper engine, roaring down the highway from the east. The kid is twenty minutes late.

He gets up and goes to the doorway, scanning the highway for signs of movement. Sure enough, a few minutes later, he sees a big, black chopper (complete with a pair of stupid fucking ape-hangers) appear over the horizon. He presses his comm button and alerts the backups, who are concealed within other abandoned buildings to the south, east, and west, that the target is inbound. Their young contact pulls up outside and shuts off the bike, and Gabe strolls out to meet him. No helmet, the fucking teenaged idiot. He removes his black cowboy hat and shakes out his shaggy, dark brown hair.

“Hola, jefe,” he calls out, as Gabe approaches. “¿Que onda?”

“Llegas tarde,” Gabe says shortly.

“Había un chingo de tráfico,” the boy grins through his oversized aviator shades.

“Te callas, cabrón,” Gabe chuckles. “Are we doing this, or what?”

“Show me what you got,” the boy says, swinging his leg languidly over the seat to dismount his motorcycle.

He follows Gabe into the derelict saloon, where three of his men are standing near some large crates. They nod in greeting to the boy and wait for Gabe’s orders.

“Ábrelos,” Gabe says.

One of the men comes over with a crowbar and pries the lids off the crates.

“¡Que padre!” the boys says, pulling off his sunglasses. He reaches into the crate and takes out a long, heavy automatic rifle. “¿Cuántos?”

“Veinte.” Gabe says.

“Veinte fuscas?”

Gabe sighs. “Veinte _cajas_ , pendejo.”

The boy lifts the rifle and looks down the sight.

Gabe turns to his men. “Descargarlos.”

“Hold up a minute,” the boy says, hastily stuffing the weapon back into the packing material. “The crates gotta stay on the truck.”

Gabe holds up a hand to stop his men, who are headed out the back door. “What the fuck are you talking about? This is what we agreed on.”

“Well, one little hitch in our giddyup. The uh—the chief wants you and me to bring the truck to the pit and deliver ‘em. He says—”

“No,” Gabe interrupts. “Deal’s off.”

“The fuck you mean, deal’s off?” the boy demands, flushing with indignation.

“You expect me to get into that truck with you and drive right into the lion’s mouth, so you can kill me and take my merch? How the fuck stupid do you think I am?”

“Hey listen, jefe, I’m just followin’ orders, here. Ain’t no need to get ornery.”

“I don’t do business with people who want to treat me like a fool. Tell your bosses they can buy from someone else.”

“Look, man, the money’s there,” the boy says urgently. “I seen ‘em gettin’ it ready. The boss likes doin’ things face to face, but there’s some heat on us right now and he don’t want to get caught out by the feds. Ain’t no double-cross, I swear.”

Gabe crosses his arms and looks the boy over. “What’s your name, son?”

The boy swallows hard. “Jesse.”

“Jesse,” Gabe says, fixing the boy’s wide, amber-brown eyes with his. “Give me your word of honor that you’re not gonna fuck me over.”

“I give you my word,” Jesse replies, meeting Gabe’s eye steadily.

Gabe holds his gaze for a beat, then waves to his men. “Alright, Jesse. We’ll do it your way. But I’m putting my life in your hands, here. Don’t make me regret it.”

A fierce glint shows in the boy’s eyes for a moment. “Where I come from, it means somethin’ when a man gives his word.”

Gabe nods slowly. “Good. Ok, let’s go.”

The men reseal the crates and load them into the truck behind the building, then Gabe and Jesse climb into the cab. Jesse pulls the truck around and Gabe tells him to stop for a minute. One of the men comes up to the passenger-side window.

“If I’m not back in two hours,” Gabe tells him, “set fire to that bike and then get out of here.”

“Aw, come on,” Jesse says petulantly. “That’s just plain mean. It’s gonna take a half hour just to get there. What if we ain’t back in two hours?”

“Then I guess you can say goodbye to your chopper. If I were you, I’d stop talking and start driving.”

Jesse mutters a retort as he steers the truck onto the highway. He guns the engine, and they speed off under the orange glow of the setting sun. They sit in silence for a while, then Jesse decides to attempt some chit-chat.

“Say, jefe,” he says. “I know y’all come out of Mexico City, but your accent don’t sound like any Chilango I ever heard. Where you from?”

“I’m from LA,” Gabe says. “I took off after the crisis wasted half the city.”

“Lots of folks got to hittin’ the road after that, sure as shit,” Jesse says, shaking his head sadly. “Nothin’s like it used to be nowhere.”

“You must’ve been a kid during most of it,” Gabe says, eyeing his companion. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Nineteen,” Jesse replies, keeping his eyes on the road.

“So…seventeen,” Gabe grins.

Jesse laughs. “Well, it don’t much matter on account of I’m a regular outlaw anyhow. But yeah, I’m seventeen.”

“That’s pretty young for your line of work.”

“Yep.”

“You been doing it long?”

“Yep.”

Gabe takes the hint and turns his attention to the flat, featureless landscape out his window. The sun is just dipping below the horizon as they pull into what looks like another abandoned town, about forty miles east of Hachita. The only lights that show in the gathering gloom are searchlights, sweeping the landscape from atop a high, concrete wall that surrounds what looks like a massive junkyard. As they draw closer, Gabe can see concertina wire threaded along the top of the wall, and ramshackle guard posts at intervals around the perimeter. Two men with assault-rifles stand before the tall, wooden gates. Jesse waves to them and they swing the gates open for the truck to pass in.

The area inside the walls is a vast encampment full of rows of drab-green military tents. Leather-clad men and women mill about or sit around bonfires, and there are motorcycles of every size, shape, and color parked absolutely everywhere. They roll to a stop in the center of a wide, empty square, brightly illuminated by spotlights. They’re facing what Gabe recognizes as the entrance to an arena. The place is an old sports stadium. That explains the huge concrete walls around the massive courtyard. The arena must be where the gang’s goods and weapons are stored, and possibly where the bosses stay.

Back at Hachita, the assault team watches the truck’s location on their GPS displays and prepare themselves to drop into Deadlock HQ.

“They’re holding position, sir,” the intel officer says to Captain Torres, the mission second-in-command.

“Understood,” Torres replies. “All units mount up.”

The air around them shimmers and warps as three TAAVs disengage their camouflage. The men board rapidly and the antigrav engines whir to life.

“Status,” Torres calls out. 

“Holding steady at the same position,” the intel man replies.

“All units proceed to target LZ,” Torres says into his comm. “We’re going in hot. Ground troops, hang back till the fireworks stop, then breach. This is a sweep and clear, gentlemen. No prisoners.” He pauses. “And try not to shoot the boss, if you can help it.”

With that, the TAAVs leap into the air and race silently through the desert night toward Deadlock HQ.

 

“They’re gonna give you a pat-down,” Jesse says to Gabe. “Which is kinda funny, seein’ as we’re payin’ you to bring a shitload of guns in here.”

Gabe grunts in response as they climb out. Jesse leans on the truck and lights a cigarette. He offers one to Gabe, but Gabe declines. In a few minutes, a stout, sturdy man of about sixty appears, flanked by several burly attendants. He has a bristly grey beard and hair, and is dressed in leather from head to toe. One of the men steps forward and Gabe holds his arms out to allow him to perform a cursory search of his person.

“Mr. Rojas,” the older man says, extending his hand. Gabe shakes it. “My name’s Hacksaw. I apologize for havin' to frisk you and all, but I have to be extra cautious at the moment. You know how it is.”

“Of course,” Gabe replies. “I assume you’ll want to take a look at the merchandise.”

“My men will inspect it. Come have a drink with me while they look it over. What’s your poison?”

“Tequila.”

“Deadeye,” Hacksaw says. “Grab a bottle of tequila from the lockup and bring it here.”

“On it, boss,” Jesse replies. He snuffs his cigarette under his boot and trots away.

“Deadeye, huh?” Gabe smirks, as he follows the man toward a large tent nearby.

“Yep. That’s the kid’s handle.”

They sit in two camp chairs before a low-burning fire.

“He choose it himself?”

“Nah, it don’t work like that. Folks around here get their handles based on their specialty.”

“What’s the kid’s specialty?”

“Sharpshooter.”

“No shit,” Gabe says dubiously.

“It’s a fact. That kid could shoot the fleas off a mule at a hundred yards. I never seen anything like it.”

“That’d be something to see.”

“Maybe he’ll give you show,” Hacksaw says, lighting the stub of a black cigar. “Might help pass the time.”

Jesse arrives with the tequila and three grimy shot glasses. He fills them and hands one to Gabe and one to his boss. Gabe and his companions down a few shots as Hacksaw’s men begin to unload the crates and pry them open.

“Deadeye,” Hacksaw says. “I was just tellin’ Mr. Rojas here that that you got quite the trigger finger. What say you give him a little demonstration.”

“Aw, boss,” Jesse says, attempting to conceal his delight. “I dunno…”

“Come on, son. Show our guest a little courtesy.”

“Alright then,” Jesse agrees. He digs a few coins out of his pocket and looks them over. “Y’all got any change?”

Between the three of them, they manage to produce six quarters, which Jesse hands to Gabe. They walk out into the open square near the truck. Jesse stands facing the wall of the arena and Gabe stands about ten paces away, between Jesse and the concrete wall, facing Jesse.

Jesse turns his back and says, “Alright Mr. Rojas, you count three, then you toss them quarters as high up in the air as you can, got it?”

Gabe says he’s got it. He counts three, then tosses the quarters about as high as they would go if thrown by a normal human man. His enhanced senses slow the scene to a crawl. He sees the boy whip around, his revolver leaping into his hand. In the blink of an eye, he fires six shots so rapid that they must have sounded like a string of firecrackers to everyone else. Gabe watches the smooth trajectory the bullets as they slice through the air one after another and strike the gleaming silver coins. He lets go of time, and the quarters ping against the concrete wall. Jesse trots past him, eager to retrieve his targets and prove to his observers that he’s hit them. He drops the mutilated coins into Gabe’s hand, beaming like a thousand-watt bulb. Gabe, having seen it all quite clearly, needs no such evidence. But he keeps the coins anyway.

“Holy fucking shit,” he says, genuinely awed. “How’d you learn to shoot like that?”

Jesse winks mischievously. “I made a deal with the devil.”

“Good shootin’, Deadeye,” Hacksaw says, clapping Jesse on the back.

The three men reseat themselves near the fire, and Hacksaw engages Gabe in some mindless small-talk. While he is providing the obligatory, pat responses, he focuses his hearing outward till he can discern the soft hum of the TAAVs hurtling through the desert night to rain destruction on Hacksaw’s people. They’ll be overhead in less than five minutes.

“Well, it looks like everything’s kosher, Mr. Rojas,” Hacksaw says, at a signal from one of his men. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’ll go get your money.”

He walks off in the direction of the arena entrance. Gabe glances over at Jesse, who is sitting cross-legged in the dirt before the bonfire. Three minutes. His heart suddenly swells, looking at the boy’s handsome, innocent face beneath his absurd cowboy hat. He can’t allow his squad of professional soldiers to kill this child, criminal or no. Jesse catches him looking and grins impishly. Two minutes. He hears the TAAVs bank and reduce their speed, preparing to drop down over the walled encampment. One minute.

“Hey _Deadeye_ ,” Gabe says, putting sarcastic emphasis on the name. “Can I get one of those smokes from you?”

Jesse smirks and tosses him the pack.

“How about a light?” He stands and takes a step toward Jesse.

The boy hops up and fishes in his jeans pocket for a lighter. Just as he pulls it out, the air around them ignites in a cataclysm of blinding white fire. Gabe throws his full weight into Jesse, knocking him flat on his back in the dirt. His hat pops off his head and rolls away. Gabe blankets the stunned boy with his body as searing-hot shards of shrapnel and debris tear into the flesh all along his right side.

“What the fuck!” Jesse gasps, coming back to himself. He struggles in vain beneath Gabe’s dense, solid frame. “What the fucking fuck! Get off me!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Gabe growls in his ear. “I’m saving your fucking life.”

He throws his arm over Jesse’s face, shielding it from the blast as another barrage of explosions tears through the camp. Then he leaps up and drags Jesse to his feet. The camp is in chaos. Gunshots erupt as the assault squad drops out of the TAAVs. A swarm of Deadlock enforcers bursts out of the arena. They immediately catch sight of Jesse and Gabe, and barrel toward them, leveling shotguns and assault rifles at Gabe. He slings the kicking, writhing teenager over his shoulder.

“I’d hang on, if I were you,” he says.

Then, to the utter astonishment of the besieged bikers, the man who has just picked up their youngest member like a sack of flour simply vanishes. They stop short and stare at each other for a moment before a volley of machine-gun fire scatters them.

Faster than the human eye can perceive, Gabe cuts nimbly through the pandemonium in the courtyard, and takes the fifteen-foot-high wall at a single leap. Jesse yelps as they hit the ground hard. The TAAVs are hovering thirty yards to the west, having dropped their payloads, and having nothing to do now but await the return of the team. Gabe presses his comm button and tells the pilot of the nearest one to open it up. The loading door folds down into a ramp and he carries the still-struggling, protesting boy onboard.

He drops him on the floor and the boy immediately aims a kick at him. His foot glances off Gabe’s shin as if he’s kicked an oak tree. Jesse goes for his gun, but somehow it’s already in Gabe’s hand. He tosses it out the door and slaps a pair of heavy restraints onto Jesse’s wrists before the boy has a chance to say “what the fuck,” which he does, enthusiastically and repeatedly. The pilot comes in and leans on the bulkhead, looking curiously at the cursing teenager.

“Who’s this, Commander?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “New recruit?”

“This is Jesse James McCree,” Gabe says, keeping his eyes fixed on the boy. “Wanted in three states for arms trafficking, kidnapping, armed robbery, grand theft, illegal possession of firearms, and a shitload of petty offenses.”

Jesse’s mouth snaps shut as he hears his full name and a list of the charges against him spoken aloud. He sits on the floor, glaring up at Gabe.

“I’m leaving him here with you for a bit, if you don’t mind,” Gabe tells the pilot. “I’ve got to help clean up in there. If he tries anything, kill him.”

“Yes, sir,” she says, eyeing the boy sternly.

Gabe steps out the door and vanishes into the dark.

“Jesse, is it?” the young woman says, after the door closes.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jesse says sulkily, staring at the floor.

“I’m Captain Ekwensi. Are you thirsty?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jesse says, looking up cautiously. 

She crosses to the back of the cabin and opens a panel. “Let’s see…here they are.”

She comes back unscrewing the cap from a silver, plastic packet filled with some kind of liquid, and holds it out to Jesse. He takes it awkwardly in his cuffed hands and sips doubtfully at it. Then his expression changes and he gulps down the entire contents. The pilot laughs merrily.

“This sure is somethin’ else, ma’am. I never tasted anything so delicious. What do you call it?”

“I don’t know the official name, but we call it Soldier-Ade. It’s some kind of electrolyte stabilizing beverage our nutritionists cooked up. You want another one?”

“Thank you ma’am, but I better not,” Jesse says. “Ma’am…are y’all gonna kill me?”

“Well…I doubt Commander Reyes would’ve pulled you out of there and brought you on board just to kill you.”

“It’s only, I—I kinda wish you would,” Jesse says. His voice quavers with emotion and he hangs his head. “Seein’ as everyone I know is about to be dead and all I got ahead of me now is a jail cell.”

The captain approaches the distressed young man and pats his shoulder comfortingly. Quick as lightning, he grabs hold of her arm and uses his weight to throw her to the ground. Owing to the element of surprise and the advantage of his athletic, nearly six-foot-tall build, he’d got the temporary drop on the slight, five-foot-four-inch woman. But Captain Ekwensi is a combat-hardened warrior. She instantly sweeps his legs out from under him and stuns him with a well-aimed jab to the bridge of his nose. Blood gushes from it as she flips him over and plants her knee between his shoulder blades.

“That wasn’t very polite, Jesse,” she says, bearing down on him with all of her one-hundred and ten pounds. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to hit women?”

“I’m real sorry ma’am,” Jesse sputters through the blood. “I just—ow! I wadn’t really gonna hurt ya or nothin’, I was just gonna run.”

“Well, now you’re just gonna get cuffed to the latrine,” she says, dragging him up by his collar.

 

Gabe returns to the TAAV about an hour later. He sees blood spattered on the floor and looks questioningly at Captain Ekwensi. She jerks her thumb in the direction of the lavatory. He goes to the back of the cabin and hauls Jesse out, somewhat subdued by his time on the bathroom floor. He’s strapping him into a seat beside his own when the other men begin to board, glancing inquisitively at their guest. Jesse stares at his boots, sullen and seething. As the vehicle takes off, his face flushes with rage. Those fuckers probably did burn his bike. He’s gonna kill ‘em all.

He shies like a wild colt as he feels something come down firmly on top of his head. It takes him a moment to realize what’s happening. The man these people call Commander Reyes is putting his own hat on him. He must’ve gone back for it. But…why? He blinks uncomprehendingly up at the man, but Reyes just turns away. Jesse slumps back in his seat, struck suddenly and all at once with the incalculable loss he’s just experienced. He pulls the brim of his hat down low over his eyes and weeps silently till he drifts off into a deep, black sleep.

 


	57. The Man

Commander Morrison gazes through the one-way glass at the teenaged boy seated in the interview room. The boy has already been warned against wearing his cover indoors, but he keeps picking up the hat and playing with it, as if he’s struggling to suppress the urge to put it on. He’s a handsome kid. Tall for his age. Lean and athletic. There’s something about him, though. Something besides the mile-long rap sheet that the Commander doesn’t like. Maybe it’s the languid posture, arms dangling loose, one leg carelessly kicked out under the table like the boy doesn’t have a care in the world. The defiant toss of the head. The long black eyelashes and insolent, pouting mouth. That’s what it is. This boy is going to be trouble.

“What exactly do you intend to do with him?” he says to Gabe, who’s standing by his side.

“Well, he stays here, or he goes to federal prison,” Gabe replies. “It’s your call, Jack. But he’s just a kid. They’ll try him as an adult, he’ll get life, and then we’ll have one more criminal in the system. If he stays here, maybe we’ll be able to turn him around.”

“He’s already a criminal. And what makes you think he wants to be turned around?”

“He’s a seventeen-year-old orphan. He can’t help the life he’s had. None of us can.”

“This isn’t a fucking home for strays, Gabe. This is a UN-funded military organization conducting highly classified, extremely dangerous operations. It’s no place for a kid.”

Gabe reaches into his pocket and digs something out.

“Here,” he says. He takes Jack’s hand and drops what feels like a fistful of coins into it.

Jack looks down at the mutilated quarters, then quickly back up at Gabe. “That kid did this?”

“Shot them right out of the air. I threw them myself and watched him do it.”

“All at once?”

“All six.”

“Shit. But I don’t know that him being a deadly shot makes me feel much better about this,” he says, returning the quarters to Gabe. He gazes at the boy for a moment. “He’ll be one-hundred percent your responsibility, so you better be on him 24-7. I’m holding you accountable for everything he does. And if he fucks up big, there won’t _be_ a trial. He’ll go straight to prison.”

“He won’t fuck up. I’ll make sure of it.”

“See that he doesn’t.”

“Jack…thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I still think you’re going to wind up regretting this.” He laughs and shakes his head. “I guess we should get him some proper clothes. He looks like a stripper in that leather vest and chaps.”

“Ugh, I know,” Gabe says. “They were all dressed like that. I wonder if it ever occurs to these tough-guy bikers that the gays claimed that look well before any of them were born.”

“You’re gay and you’re the biggest tough-guy on the planet,” Jack says with a grin. “Maybe they’re onto something.”

“If that’s your reasoning, then they should all be wearing hoodies and jeans. You want to chat with the kid before I take him out of there?”

“Yeah. I’m going to rattle his cage a little. Come in and good-cop me in a few minutes.”

“Of course.”

Jack squares his shoulders, puts on his most severe soldier-face, and heads next door to Interview Room B.

 

Jesse sits slumped in a metal folding chair in a small, bare room with concrete walls and a one-way mirror on his left. He’s been in interrogation rooms before. He knows some of those people are watching him from behind that stupid metallic glass. He fidgets with his hat and resists the compulsion to shoot them a impish grin. That’d probably just make ‘em mad. Then who knows what they’ll do to him.

He’s hungry and thirsty and he needs to piss. He concentrates on that instead of the sick, hollow ache in the pit of his stomach. The one that tells him all his buddies are dead and he’s just waiting to be locked up in a cage for the rest of his mortal life. When he thinks about that, his chest constricts like it’s wrapped in iron bands. He’d rather die a thousand horrible deaths than waste away in a little cell, never seeing the stars over his head or feeling the dirt under his boots or breathing the free air again.

He guesses he’s had this coming. A long time coming. But he ain’t even eighteen. That ain’t enough years to live on God’s glorious earth and then just get took out of it and stuffed in a hole to rot. His eyes sting with approaching tears, but he shoves ‘em back down and swallows the ache in his throat. He aint’ gonna give ‘em that. They ain’t gonna see Evelyn McCree’s boy cry. No one gets to see that. He reckons he’s made of sterner stuff than the lot of these motherfuckers, and he’ll give ‘em some kind of something to remember him by before he goes. And he will go. In his own way and his own time. Not dying by inches in a concrete box.

He’s steeling his resolve to end his own life when the door opens. He looks up and sees a tall, blonde man stroll in like he owns the joint. Holy shit, it’s _the_ Man. And he does own the joint. It’s Commander Jack Morrison. From the TVs and newspapers. Some fancy city even put up some statues of the fucker. Jesse sizes the man up surreptitiously from under his eyelashes. He looks just as uppity and self-righteous in person. Like an overgrown Boy Scout in a stupid blue duster. His eyes are blue, too. Jesse knew that. Everyone knows what the man looks like. Only he didn’t know they were _so_ blue. Like the bright, clear sky on a morning in winter. Like mama’s. That’s enough of that. Don’t think about mama now. You just listen to whatever dumb shit he’s gonna say about how bad y’are and how sorry you should be, and then he’ll go away.

The Commander opens a file and scans through it as he seats himself in a chair on the other side of the shiny steel table. He aims those blue eyes at Jesse, and Jesse prepares himself for a lecture. But the man don’t say anything. He just looks. Jesse looks right back like he ain’t scared of shit, but he’s shaking inside. This man ain’t exactly like he seems. There’s somethin’ dangerous behind that angel’s face he’s wearin’. Somethin’ hard and cold. Like them big mountains of ice in the sea up north that the news people’s always sayin’ are fixin’ to melt and drown us all. Jesse gives it his best go, but he drops his eyes at last, defeated by the icy needles the man’s eyes are poking into his skull.

The Commander shuts the file and sits back in his chair. He still ain’t talkin’. Jesse reflexively reaches for his hat to fiddle with it. Quicker than a whip, the man swats the hat and it goes sailing off the table to the floor. Jesse’s face gets hot and he glares up at the Commander with his eyes spittin’ fire. The man is still lookin’ at him, calm and cool as a cucumber with those blue, blue eyes and square jaw and light blonde hair. He’s so perfect it’s like he’s doin’ it on purpose. Jesse wonders if it’s possible to hate someone you just met. And he’s startin’ to need to piss real bad.

“Anything you’d like to say,” the man says at last. It ain’t shaped like a question though, so Jesse waits for the rest. He finishes after an uncomfortably long pause. “…will be to your advantage.”

“Go fuck—” Jesse begins, but the man cuts him off.

“Anything useful, that is,” he says calmly. “You are going to prison, Mr. McCree. You will be transported under armed guard directly after this interview and placed in solitary confinement in a maximum-security facility. You will not be tried. You will not be eligible to receive parole nor amnesty of any kind.” The Commander’s lip curls slightly. “The disease that is Jesse McCree will be excised from society and isolated in a safe place where it can do no further harm to its fellow man. Anything you wish to tell me that may have bearing on my assessment of your character will only help to ease your circumstances. I would encourage you to take advantage of my generosity. You have a long, lonely road ahead of you.”

Jesse positively trembles with rage. He can’t hold back the tears anymore, so he gives ‘em their head and lets fly.

“Fuck you!” he snarls, slamming his fist down on the table and jumping to his feet. “Fuck you ‘n your pompous ass comin’ in here and talkin’ down to me like I ain’t worth nothin’. You don’t know me from Adam, you Nazi-lookin’ sonofabitch.”

“Careful, Mr. McCree,” the Commander says coolly.

Jesse knows he should sit down and shut his trap, but he is heated past the point of prudence.

“No, _you_ be careful!” He fires back. “I know who y’are and I don’t give a gob a goose shit. Just cause you had everything so nice and soft don’t make you better’n me. If you’da been in my boots, you’da been lucky to survive a year. A month! Maybe I ain’t no good, but I ain’t a disease neither. I’m just a man tryin’ to make his way, like anyone else. You got every right to lock me up and throw away the key. Hell, you can kill me where I stand and no one in the world would give a damn. But you ain’t got no call to insult me. All I got’s my honor, and I ain’t givin’ it up just cause you got a bunch of men with guns on your side. I ain’t scared of you and I ain’t scared to die.”

With that, Jesse marches over to his hat, picks it up and places it firmly on his head, and throws himself defiantly back into his chair. He crosses his arms and puffs out his chest in such an absurdly childish way, that the Commander almost laughs outright. He keeps control of himself, however. He taps the file with the tips of his fingers, gazing intently at the boy as if he is making some deep calculation.

“I see,” he says slowly, the barest hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Maybe… Maybe he was right about you, after all.”

“Who was what now?” Jesse asks, caught entirely off his guard. “Right—about me?”

At that moment, Commander Reyes saunters in and leans on the wall behind Commander Morrison.

“Speak of the devil,” Morrison says, still looking at Jesse.

“And he shall appear.” Gabe grins wickedly. “Hey kid, the Commander been telling you I’m the devil? Cause he’s not exactly wrong.”

“The…the Commander been…what?” Jesse says stupidly, unable to comprehend what is happening.

Much to his discomfiture, the two terrifying men break into a hearty laugh.

“Your boy’s got spirit, Reyes,” Morrison says, standing up and turning to his comrade. “Maybe I was too quick to judge him.” He turns those hard blue eyes on Jesse once more. “But take care he keeps that temper under control, or he’ll have me to deal with.”

“Understood, sir,” Reyes says, dipping his chin slightly.

Morrison lays his hand on Reyes’ shoulder for an instant, then exits the room without another word to Jesse. Jesse stares blankly at Reyes, uncertain what to do. He went and got all his hackles up, but now it seems like there ain’t gonna be any fight. Reyes raises an eyebrow and looks expectantly at him, as if there’s somethin’ he’s meant to understand. Jesse can’t make heads or tails of it.

“I ain’t your boy,” he says lamely, casting his eyes down at the table.

“Looks like you are now,” Reyes says, in a tone that does not leave room for further discussion. “Come on. Let’s get you something to eat and then we’ll see about your kit.”

“My—my kit?” Jesse says, rising to follow the man simply because he doesn’t know what else to do.

He pauses and tucks his chair in before he comes around the table. Reyes notices and smiles.

“You can’t walk around here looking like a go-go dancer at a leather bar,” he says, holding the door open for Jesse to exit. “We’ll get you something to wear till you can get properly fitted. I hope you like blue.”

Jesse stops cold as they enter the hallway. He looks about uneasily, then up at the Commander.

“Sir, please,” he says. “I can’t understand what in sam-hell is goin’ on here. Ain’t I goin’ to jail now?”

“You will if you fuck up, so don’t get any ideas about trying anything cute,” Reyes says. “You work for me now, Jesse. Whether that’s better or worse than prison, I’ll leave to you to decide.”

With no further explanation, the Commander turns and strides briskly down the hall, with his bewildered teenaged charge trailing after him like a lost puppy. Their first stop is the latrine, in which Reyes admonishes Jesse to use some god damned soap and grumbles that he’s as feral as an alley cat. Jesse follows the taciturn man to an elevator, where they take a brief ride up to a floor marked “Dining” in English and what Jesse assumes indicates the same idea in a number of other languages.

They walk down a wide, brightly lit corridor with sky-blue tile on the floor and abominable abstract paintings hanging all along the wall in metallic frames. Jesse’s stomach growls as he catches the delicious aromas of food being cooked, wafting from a set of transparent sliding doors at the end of the main hallway. The vast, high-ceilinged area inside the doors is clearly some kind of cafeteria. Jesse blinks around him at all the different miniature restaurants, offering a staggering variety of culinary options. The place is bustling with men and women. They are mostly wearing the iconic, bright-blue Overwatch uniform, but here and there, he sees some dressed in fashionable civilian clothing, and even a few in athletic gear.

Reyes says something Jesse does not hear, but he nods anyway and follows him to one of the counters. There is a line of uniformed people waiting, but they all step aside as Reyes approaches, saluting and saying “Commander,” in brisk, cheerful voices. They stare curiously at Jesse, who suddenly feels incredibly small and exposed. He shrinks close to the Commander, as if he can make himself invisible in the man’s shadow, and waits silently as he speaks to the cashier in Spanish. After several minutes that pass like several hours, Reyes pushes a tray into Jesse’s hands and leads him to a booth in a remote corner of the cavernous room.

Jesse looks down at his tray of Mexican-like dishes, and forgets all his fear and confusion in his sudden, overwhelming need to put as much food into his body as he possibly can, as quickly as he can. Reyes watches with a smirk as Jesse wolfs down his meal, only stopping him once to tell him to use his fucking napkin for Christ’s sake what is this a barnyard? They leave their empty trays, and Jesse follows Reyes back through the crowded dining hall.

They head down to a floor marked “Materiel Command” and the harried-looking woman behind the counter produces a large stack of neatly-folded garments, underclothing, and socks.

“He’ll have to wear his own boots till he’s measured,” she says.

Reyes thanks her and stuffs the clothes into a blue duffel bag, which he hands to Jesse. At another counter, a man gives them a blue vinyl travel case filled with toiletries, disposable razors, a comb, and a blue toothbrush. The case goes into Jesse’s duffel bag and they move on. Everywhere they go, people stand aside for them to pass and salute the Commander.

It is finally beginning to dawn on Jesse that he has just been conscripted into the most powerful military organization in the world. This is going to be his new life. He is going to be a soldier. The thought terrifies him. His face goes white and his knees actually tremble as they board the elevator again. Reyes asks him if he’s sick.

“No, sir, I ain’t sick,” Jesse says, attempting to sound calm and failing miserably. “I’m just fine.”

Reyes laughs, then softens somewhat and looks down at him seriously. “It’s ok, son. You’re safe here.”

Jesse gazes into the stern, scarred face of the man he had met a month ago as Mr. Rojas, an arms dealer from Mexico City. “I…I am?”

“Yeah. I know Jack scared you some, but he’s not as terrible when you get to know him. We’re the good guys.”

“Jack?” Jesse asks, more perplexed than ever.

“Commander Morrison. He’s the boss around here.”

“He your boss?”

“That’s what they tell me.”

Jesse detects a heavy note of bitterness in the statement, but he knows better than to open his mouth, so he just nods.

“Here we are,” Reyes says.

They’ve ridden the elevator up to what seems to Jesse to be close enough to the stratosphere to count as outer space. This floor is designated Residential-O and the elevator had required a swipe of Reyes’ key card to even acknowledge his push of the corresponding button. It is very different to what Jesse has seen so far. The first thing that strikes his eye is the brilliant sunlight streaming in through a ceiling that seems to be one massive skylight stretching out to encompass nearly the entire top floor of the building. It arches down seamlessly into an enormous picture window looking out on the greens and whites of the Swiss countryside. Jesse has never seen a mountain with snow on top in the summer.

He tears his eyes reluctantly away from the spectacular view as Reyes leads him down a softly-lit hallway. The floor is a silky, honey-colored wood and the doors are a different kind of dark brown wood. They bear silver placards with names engraved on them, rather than numbers. Jesse notes how far apart they are spaced. The rooms must be big.

“Like a real fancy hotel,” he murmurs to himself.

Reyes snorts and pauses before a door. He presses his thumb to a silver plate, which lights up blue, and the door swings noiselessly open. Jesse follows him into what appears to be a small palace. He reads the nameplate as he passes in.

“ _Commander Gabriel Reyes_ …hang on, this is your room?”

“Yeah.”

“Just you?”

“That’s right. What?”

Jesse lets out a low whistle as he looks around at the Commander’s personal quarters. “It’s a mighty fancy place is all.”

“That’s ‘fancy’ twice now. You know any other words?”

“I can think of a couple,” Jesse shoots back, before he can stop himself. He winces. Fortunately, the Commander laughs.

“Oh, I bet you can. The shower’s in here,” he says, jerking his chin in the direction of a narrow hallway. “There’s fresh towels on the rack. Get cleaned up and dressed and come meet me on the patio.”

Jesse blinks, uncertain which of these things to reply to first. “Patio?”

“Go back down the hall into the atrium and walk out the only door to the only patio you see,” Reyes says, a touch impatiently.

“Yes, sir. But…boss, why am I havin’ a shower here? In…in your room?”

“Because you smell like a little like axle grease and a lot like a horse, and we don’t have a room assigned to you yet.” Reyes turns as if to leave, then turns back. “Don’t touch anything. Use the toiletries we just got you at supply. And don’t leave your shit laying on the floor.” He walks to the door, then turns back a second time. “And don’t fuckin’ get water everywhere. There’s a door on the shower for a reason.”

Jesse nods, too bewildered to answer. Before he can think to ask how the shower works, Reyes is gone.

Jesse walks cautiously into the bathroom, which is larger than his sleeping quarters had been at the Pit. He drops the duffel bag and strips quickly. He’s not used to seeing himself reflected in so large (nor so clean) a mirror, and he finds the sight of his naked body unnerving. He approaches the shower like a good cowboy approaches a wild horse. It’s a worthy opponent that must be carefully assessed before you take it on, or you’ll wind up on your ass. To his surprise, he finds no knobs at all. He inspects the area around the shower closely. No switches, panels, nor buttons.

“Well, shit,” he says aloud.

The toilet obligingly flushes and emits a puff of some kind of floral-scented spray from a valve on the tank. Jesse steps back and considers the situation carefully.

“Mierda,” he offers.

The toilet responds with another flush and puff of scent.

“Flush.” The toilet repeats the process again. Then Jesse turns to the shower.

“Shower,” he says authoritatively.

The shower head activates, and soon he is under the steaming water, soaping his body generously and soaking his stiff, sore muscles. He hadn’t realized what a beating he’d taken. Reyes knocked him on the ground and then yanked him back up and flung him over his shoulder, then he clumb over that—wait a god damned minute. He’s starting to recall the incident more clearly now. Reyes didn’t climb that fence, he leaped it. In a single bound, like the fella in that old radio show. A fifteen foot high fence. And then he’d thrown him on the helicopter. And then he’d gone back and killed all of Jesse’s friends.

Hacksaw and Crankshaft and Big Titty Barb and Dale M. and Dale R. and Lizard and everyone. All dead. All except Jesse. His head spins so he has to lean against the wall. He sobs till he pukes and then he sobs some more. After a while he straightens himself up and washes off again. He says “off” and the shower obeys, then he steps out into about a quarter inch of cold water. He realizes he left the shower door open.

“Oh, fuck,” he says. “Oh no, no, no. Shit!” The toilet flushes and puffs. Jesse glares at it. “This ain’t no time for your sarcasm,” he says angrily.

There’s water all over the immaculate floor, saturating the bath mat, and even seeped into his duffel bag. The clothes he took off are drenched. He attempts to remain calm and remedy the situation, but the two towels are already sopping wet and there’s still so much water. Finally he sits down on the bathroom floor, utterly defeated, and gives way to another fit of uncontrollable weeping. A large, heavy hand on his shoulder scares him nearly out of his skin. He yelps and jumps up, then realizes he’s naked and quickly sits back down. The Commander is towering over him like a black monolith.

“I’m real sorry, sir,” Jesse implores. “I tried real hard to do it right, but the shower was so confusin’ and the toilet gimme all kinda sass and I didn’t know what was what.”

Reyes stands there looking around at the chaos that was formerly his tidy bathroom, then at the wet, red-eyed teenager sitting and shivering pathetically in the eye of the storm. He throws his head back and laughs so hard, he has to steady himself on the doorframe.

“Fuck,” he says, still chuckling. “All you had to do was take a shower, Jesse. Jesus Christ. You are a walking disaster, aren’t you? I can’t even be angry. Just a minute.”

Reyes disappears down the hall, then reappears with a long, black bathrobe and some dry towels. Jesse puts on the robe and mops up the remaining water with the new towels.

“Just throw everything wet into the bath tub. The maid will deal with it later,” Reyes tells him.

Jesse wonders what kind of military people have maids to clean up after ‘em as Reyes dumps out the duffel bag on the hall floor.

“Looks like your new clothes are just damp,” he says. “We’ll have to run them through the dryer for a little while. These bags are weather-resistant, but they’re not teenager resistant.”

Reyes puts Jesse’s clothes in the dryer, then they go into the dining room. Jesse sits down at the table, feeling more awkward and ridiculous than he’s ever felt in his life.

“You want some coffee?” Reyes asks, going into the kitchen.

Jesse says yes, please, and then looks at the big, blue book on the table in front of him. Embossed on the cover in silver letters, are the following words:

Overwatch IET Agent’s Handbook

Switzerland Overwatch Agent Training Command

Personnel: General

As Jesse cranes his neck down to look at the book, he smells something like cologne or…aftershave or something. It’s coming from the robe he’s wearing. It’s a warm, masculine scent, with a hint of tobacco in it, but it’s subtle and pleasant. It has an instant, overpowering emotional effect on him. He feels like he’s trying to remember something he can’t quite get a grip on. Like a pretty piece of music or something. He likes the smell immensely and pulls the collar of the robe up to his nose to breathe it in more deeply.

His face flushes with sudden embarrassment at the realization that this is Reyes’ bathrobe, and the scent belongs to him. He drops the collar and opens the book, but he feels lightheaded and dizzy, and he can’t concentrate. Reyes comes back with two steaming mugs and places one in front of Jesse, who keeps his eyes intently fixed on the page he is not reading. Reyes shuts the book and takes it away.

“We can worry about that tomorrow,” he says. “You’ve had enough excitement for one day, I think.”

“For lots of days,” Jesse mutters, sipping from the mug. It’s the best coffee he’s ever tasted.

Reyes takes out a box of cigarettes and a lighter and sets them on the table between himself and Jesse.

“Go ahead. I got them for you,” he says. “Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself.”

 


	58. Jesse

“I ain’t sure what you’re gettin’ at, here,” Jesse says, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “Don’t y’all pretty much know everythin’ there is to know about me anyhow?”

Gabe takes a cigarette from the pack and lights it, then hands it to Jesse.

“We know everything that an arrest record can tell us. But if that’s all you are, I’d be pretty surprised.”

Jesse rolls the cigarette back and forth between his fingers.

“Well I mean, of course that ain’t all I am.” He looks down into his mug of coffee. “I just—I guess I can’t figure why you want to know, is all.”

“Look, I know this is probably pretty overwhelming,” Gabe says, “and I don’t mean to push you. But I took a huge risk taking you on like this. It’s literally never been done. So, if you’re going to work for me, it’s important that I understand who you are.”

“Why’d you do it?” Jesse asks, looking up at him suddenly. “Why’d you take me on?”

“Because you’re just a kid and you deserve a chance to decide not to throw the rest of your life down the toilet. And because you figured out what I was and what I was going to do to the Deadlocks, and you didn’t try to stop me.”

Jesse’s face drains of color. He opens his mouth and closes it, wide-eyed and stunned for a moment.

“No,” he says. “No, I didn’t. I thought you was—”

“Bullshit,” Gabe cuts him off. “You saw through that arms-trader story the minute you met me. It took you a little while to be sure, but by the time we arranged the buy, you had a pretty good idea who I was working for, too. I want to know why you didn’t blow my cover.”

Jesse gazes blankly down at the table, hunched over his mug and still fidgeting with the cigarette. He takes a deep drag and slowly releases the smoke into the air between them. He pulls the bathrobe tighter around him as if he feels a sudden chill.

“I was tired,” he says in a flat, toneless voice, shaking his head slowly from side to side. “Plain old tired. Only so much a fella can take of livin’ that way before it just makes ya…tired. Only so much blood you can carry around on your hands before it starts gettin’ smeared all over everything you touch.”

“Blood?”

“Blood,” Jesse repeats. He looks up at Gabe. There is a reckless, desperate light in his big, amber-brown eyes that Gabe hasn’t seen before. “I’m…a murderer. I suppose that’s the kind of thing you’d want to know about a fella before you let him work for you.”

“What do you mean, you’re a murderer, Jesse? The biggest charge we have on you is arms trafficking.”

“I mean I’ve killed six men in cold blood. It ain’t on my sheet, so if you want to use it against me, I guess you can toss it in there.”

“What men?” Gabe asks, crossing his arms and keeping his eyes focused intently on Jesse’s face.

“Three of ‘em was members of rival gangs who killed some of our people. One of ‘em was a man of our own who was stealin’ from the gang and sellin’ on the side. I done all them on orders from the bosses. But two of ‘em was lawmen. Train marshals. All they did wrong was get in my way.”

“What happened? With the train marshals?”

“We was doin’ a holdup job and I was in charge of the hostages. The marshals had wind somethin’ was up, so two of ‘em was dressed up plainclothes and sittin’ in among the passengers. They popped up and showed their hardware and I shot ‘em down where they stood. I done it right in front of a little girl. She started screamin’ and cryin’ and carryin’ on so her mama had to cover her up in her jacket and rock her till she tuckered out. We got out with the money and no more hassle. But it fucked me up. Thinkin’ of her little face lookin’ right up at me all white and shakin’ like that. She was scared of me. I was one of the bad guys. I _am_ one of the bad guys.”

He takes another long draw from his cigarette, then drops the butt into his mug and continues in the same dull, despondent tone.

“The Deadlocks, all them folks I was with, they were bad guys too. There was some who was kind to me sometimes, but it was only on account of I was in the gang. They ain’t never had no pity for the widow ‘n the orphan. They took as much as they could get and it didn’t make a lick of difference who they hurt to get it. So, when you come along, I figured if y’all wanted to take us apart, it wadn’t anything we ain’t had comin’. Maybe it was fate givin’ me a chance to do right. Even up the score a little on the side of good.”

“Were you the one who warned your boss that there was heat on you? The reason he wanted to make the exchange on your home turf?”

“Nope. I didn’t say nothin’. I just left it up to fate. But you didn’t need me to get you in the door. Y’all had those crates jacked as sure as I’m sittin’ here. Maybe the guns, too.”

“Why didn’t you tell us that you knew, then? And offer to cooperate?”

“It ain’t the same thing, lettin’ a fella’s fate get a hold of him itself, and outright handin’ him over to it. I figured if I didn’t warn no one about you, it was only fair play to go on like I woulda if I hadn’t known neither. Then we all had the same chances. Level odds, y’know?”

“Why did you try to escape when I left you in the TAAV with Captain Ekwensi?”

“Cause I was supposed to die with my buddies.” He drops his hands at his sides and slumps defeatedly against the back of his chair. “I figured if I got killed, maybe it’d count as givin’ up my life for somethin’ that was right, even if no one knew I done it. But you fucked that up for me real nice. Now I ain’t got any way to even up the score with fate.”

“Jesse…there isn’t any such thing as fate. And there’s no one keeping score. What happens to us happens by chance, not by some divine predestination.”

“Naw,” Jesse says, shaking his head decidedly. “You don’t believe that. If you’re an atheist, I’m the Pope.”

“What makes you say that?”

“No one who really believes there ain’t no God to be angry at could be as angry as you are.”

“Why do you think I’m angry?”

“Cause I am, too,” Jesse says, looking up keenly into Gabe’s eyes. “I can see it plain as if it was wrote on your face. You spent your life hatin’ God cause he done some hard, cruel shit to you. Same as me. You can’t hate a thing you don’t believe in.”

“What did God do to you?”

“He took my mama. She was pure and sweet and good, and as beautiful as an angel in a picture. She hauled me to church every Sunday and taught me bible verses and made me say my prayers every night. When shit get rough, she’d say we could always trust in God, and then after a while it’d get better again. Then she got sick. I thought God would make her better, ‘cause we believed and we prayed so hard, he just had to listen. But she said if it was his plan to take her, we’d have to accept it and keep on believing. ‘Fore she died, she made me promise I’d never stop believing in God, no matter what. So I do. But that don’t mean I can’t hate the fucker.”

“Your records say you were orphaned at twelve. What happened to your father?”

“I dunno. All mama would say was that he was a drunk and a no-good drifter. I figure he’s dead or tanked-up in a gutter somewheres. Either way, it don’t make no nevermind to me. I never had no daddy. Just mama. Then God took her away, cause I guess he wanted to look after me himself for a spell. Now I’m a murderer and all other kinds of criminal and I ain’t even old enough to vote. I guess God fucked that one up pretty good.”

“Jesus Christ, Jesse,” Gabe says, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. “Why are you telling me all of this now? No one would ever have known. You could have lived a better life here working for the good guys and evened your score up that way.”

Jesse smiles grimly. “Call it confession.”

“Confession?”

“Yeah. You’re Catholic, right? You know about confession.”

“I’m not a priest, Jesse. I can’t hear confession.”

“Well, I’m not a Catholic, so I guess we’re even. I coulda did that shit you said. Lived a better life here and made good. But blood don’t wash off so easy. It woulda ate me up inside every day knowin’ you folks was so kind as to take pity on me and make me one of you, all the while lettin’ you think I was better’n I am. Not knowin’ you was harborin’ a…a disease like me. So, anyhow, now I’ve made my confession. I guess that’s it.”

Gabe winces to hear the boy repeating Jack’s word from earlier and taking it on himself in this painful way, but he has to let this play out to its conclusion.

“I don’t know what to do about this, Jesse. Your criminal history is one thing, but murder…that’s different.”

“I know it is and that’s why I had to get it out,” Jesse says, squaring his shoulders manfully. “I told your Commander all I got’s my honor and I meant it. I won’t live like a coward, hidin’ from what I done. I know you gotta tell him now. But…I gotta to ask you for a favor. If you feel inclined to do me a kindness, maybe, seein’ as I didn’t rat on you to the Deadlocks and all.”

“What’s that?”

“Just…just kill me now. I ain’t scared to die. Just don’t let ‘em lock me up in a cage for the rest of my life.”

“Jesse—” Gabe begins, but the boy is quickly becoming frantic.

“Or if you don’t want it on your conscience, just stick me back in that holding cell and give me a gun with one shot. I swear I won’t try to hurt no one else—”

“Jesse—”

“Just please don’t let ‘em put me in a cage.” He takes hold of Gabe’s wrist and wrings it beseechingly. Tears spill out of his big, brown eyes and roll down his face. “I can’t take it. I can’t live in a hell like that. Please just let me die like I was supposed to. Please.”

Gabe struggles against the sudden, overwhelming urge to pull the boy into his arms and hold him. To comfort him like a child and tell him everything will be alright. The rush of unexpected feeling confuses and alarms him, which immediately makes him angry.

“Jesse,” he says sharply, jerking his arm abruptly out of the boy’s grasp. “Stop this right now. You’re a man, so act like one. No more crying.”

Jesse sits up straight with a start. He looks at Gabe with wide, wild eyes, like some kind of frightened animal.

“I’m sorry,” Gabe says in a gentler tone. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Just calm down, ok?”

Jesse nods and hastily wipes away the tears on his face.

“You haven’t told me much I didn’t already know,” Gabe continues. “So there’s no reason to go flying off the handle. It’s alright.”

“You…you already knew? How?” Jesse asks, dumbfounded by the revelation. “Ain’t no charges on me for any of it.”

“I don’t rely on local police departments for my information. When we met after I started the Deadlock job, I thought you might be someone worth looking into further, and so I had my intel people do some digging. They pinned you for two open murder cases involving train marshals, and the disappearances of a few scumbags from rival gangs. The only one we didn’t know about was the member of your own gang, but that’s not surprising, since you guys don’t exactly register your addresses with the census board.” 

“Why didn’t you just tell me you knew? Why’d you make me cop to it?”

“Because it was crucially important to me that you confessed to killing those men on your own, because you felt it was the right thing to do, instead of having it pried out of you in an interrogation. I needed to make sure I was right about your character, and I think you showed me that I judged you correctly. I’m proud of you.”

“I’m a criminal and a murderer,” Jesse says miserably. “That’s my character. How can you say you’re…proud of me, knowin’ what I am?”

“That’s what you _were_ , not what you are, and not what you will be. You may think you’re a big bad outlaw, Jesse, but you’re still just a kid. You have a chance to turn your life around and make things right. Be one of the good guys. But you couldn’t do that with something like that weighing on your conscience. It would have destroyed you.”

Jesse gazes thoughtfully into the middle-distance for a moment or two.

“I do feel lighter, kinda. Like them sins is weighin’ on me less, now I come out with it.” He draws a long, shaky breath and appears to relax somewhat. “So…what happens to me now?”

“Well, you’ve made your confession, as you said,” Gabe replies. “So I guess you’re free to go forth and sin no more, to continue our biblical theme. But, unless you decide you’d rather go to prison after all, that means you’re working for me now.”

“I’d—I’d be honored to work for you, Commander,” Jesse says stiffly. “Thank you for givin’ me a chance.”

“You can just call me boss. Save all that ‘Commander’ business for Jack.”

“Yes, sir—boss.”

“Your clothes are probably dry by now,” Gabe says, rising from the table. “Go get dressed and we’ll see about your quarters. Welcome to Overwatch, Special Agent McCree.”

 

 

 

The moonlight shines brilliantly on the high, white mountain peaks that form part of the breathtaking view from the Strike-Commander’s private suite, situated atop the Overwatch Swiss Headquarters. The Commander is sitting in his expansive, sparsely decorated living room, scanning through that day’s reports from their bureaus around the world on a little rectangular tablet. There is a soft knock at his door. He calls out “come in” and the door swings open to admit Commander Reyes, then shuts softly behind him.

“How’d it go?” Jack asks, not looking up from his reading. “He confess?”

“Yeah. He did.”

Gabe falls into the sofa beside Jack and stretches out his legs.

“Don’t put your feet on the coffee table,” Jack says, still tapping away at his tablet. “What did he say about it?”

“A lot of things. He’s a good kid, Jack. He’s just fucked up and he needs a strong hand to set him right. I think he’ll be an excellent agent, one day.”

“I hope so. You don’t put your ass on the line for anyone. I’d hate to see it come back to bite you.”

“Well, that makes two of us. What are you reading?”

Gabe leans over to look at Jack’s screen. Jack switches the tablet off and sets it on the coffee table.

“Did you really come here to talk about the kid?”

“No.”

“Good.”

He rises from the sofa and strips with surprising alacrity, leaving his clothes where they fall. Gabe gazes adoringly at Jack’s naked body. The curve of his neck, where it meets his shoulders. His broad, square chest. His perfectly chiseled abdominal muscles. The hint of dark, curly hair leading the eye down to his fully erect cock.

“Come here,” Gabe says.

Jack steps between his legs and looks down at him with those devastating blue eyes. Gabe sits up and grabs Jack’s ass with both hands, taking his cock in his mouth and sucking it urgently. Jack gasps and lets out a soft moan. Gabe pulls back and teases the head with his tongue, then pushes his mouth onto it till it hits the back of his throat.

“Fuck,” Jack breathes, holding Gabe’s head to steady himself. “Oh, fuck. Fuck.”

“Don’t come,” Gabe says. “I want to make you come while I fuck you.”

“I want you. Fuck me right now.”

“Beg me.”

“Please,” Jack pants. “Please fuck me. Fuck me!”

“Go in your bedroom and put your hands on the mirror. Don’t move unless I tell you to.”

Jack vanishes down the hall. Gabe undresses slowly, prolonging the anticipation as far as he can stand it. He pulls Jack’s belt out of the loops on his blue trousers and follows him to the bedroom. He pauses in the doorway for a long moment, lost in a memory of another night, many years ago, when he saw Jack waiting for him like this, bent obediently over a dresser with his hands on a mirror.

Jack cries out as the belt cuts a searing lash across his ass. He pushes his hot forehead against the cold mirror. Another lash. He groans through his teeth. Another. Then the belt slides round his neck and tightens. His head spins. Gabe is yanking him backward, using the belt as a leash. It constricts around his throat, strangling his cry of pain as Gabe pulls him down onto his lap and penetrates him forcefully.

“Watch yourself while I fuck you,” Gabe growls in his ear.

Jack opens his eyes and watches himself in the mirror. The strip of black leather around his throat. His swollen, ruddy cock bouncing as Gabe fucks him. Spots begin to creep across his vision. His body trembles all over. He’s going to come, but he can’t ask permission. Gabe slackens the belt and he snaps back to consciousness for a second before it tightens again. His muscles tense and twitch and his vision begins to go black.

“Come now,” Gabe snarls, pounding him ferociously and pulling the belt tighter.

The belt snaps. Jack’s body goes rigid as his cock spasms forcefully, spewing streams of ejaculate all over the mirror. Gabe hangs onto his hips and fucks him like a demon. Like he’s trying to kill them both. Jack gives a weak, hoarse moan as Gabe’s ruthlessly hard cock brutalizes his insides, stretching him, splitting him open, beating against the extremity of his rectum, till at last he feels it convulse violently inside him with Gabe’s intense ejaculation.

The fluid gushes out of him in a warm stream as Gabe withdraws his cock. Jack feels himself being lifted and laid down in his bed. He is beginning to doze off when he hears the water in the bathroom turn on. He laughs softly to himself. Gabe must be filling that Jacuzzi tub…he must be—

Jack gets out of bed and rapidly collects his clothes from the living room floor. Gabe’s clothes aren’t there. He runs hot water over a clean towel at the kitchen sink and wipes himself down, then pulls on a white t-shirt and grey sweatpants. He sits down on the couch and picks up his tablet. Gabe emerges from the bathroom fully dressed. He even has his boots on. A sick, cold feeling grips the pit of Jack’s stomach. He wants to scream, cry, beg Gabe to stay. To hold him. To sleep here with him.

_Sleep here with me, Gabriel._

The ancient echo of something he can’t quite remember rings in his ears until it deafens him. Makes him dizzy. Turns his mind into a howling nightmare of fragmented images and nonsensical voices. He dives. The cool, dark, emptiness swallows the pain and mutes the roaring chaos in his mind. He smiles placidly up at Gabe.

“You going?”

“Yeah, I better,” Gabe says flatly. “Thanks.”

Jack laughs. “I like having sex with you, Gabe. You don’t have to thank me.”

Gabe’s facial expression is absolutely unreadable to Jack. He has no idea what it means. Is he angry? Why would he be angry? It must not be that. But he isn’t smiling. Oh, no, he’s sad. There’s a tear on his face.

“Gabe, I’m—”

But Gabe turns his back and barks “open!” at the door. Then he is gone. The door swings shut behind him, leaving jack to consider what has just happened. He decides Gabe must have been angry with him, but he can’t imagine why. They just had very intense, very enjoyable sex, and Jack even did him a huge favor and let him have the new recruit he wanted, so there’s nothing he should be so irritable about. People are baffling sometimes. He taps the tablet’s screen to activate it and finishes reading through the watch reports. Then he showers, brushes his teeth, and goes to bed.


	59. Fairy Queen

“Hey, boss. Boss. Hey.” Jesse nudges Gabe with his elbow.

“What, Jesse, what?” Gabe says irritably, opening one eye to glower at his young companion. He wasn’t really sleeping, but he finds that pretending to do so is the only way to get Jesse to shut up. And it only works about half the time, anyway.

“I gotta ask you somethin’.”

“Well?”

“I was thinkin’…if bears had a language, d’you think it’d sound like Russian?”

Gabe sighs in exasperation and pulls his sleeping bag up over his head. “I don’t fuckin’ know, Jesse, probably.”

“I always thought it would. Well, I mean, ever since I got to thinkin’ about it, which was about a minute ago.”

“I have a question,” Gabe says, yanking the sleeping bag back down. “Are you nuclear powered or something? We’ve been busting our asses for twenty hours in this fucking frozen wasteland, we finally get a chance to rest, and what do you do? You wake me up to ask me if I think bears would speak Russian.”

“It ain’t my fault I can’t quiet my mind down when we’re out doin’ all types of exciting spy shit,” Jesse replies chirpily. “Besides, you wadn’t really sleepin’ anyhow.”

“How do you know I wasn’t sleeping?”

“Cause you breathe different when you’re really asleep.”

“Because I breathe—for fuck’s sake, Jesse! The shit that comes out of your mouth. Do you know how creepy it sounds to tell someone you know how they breathe when they’re sleeping?”

“Aw, come on, boss,” Jesse says, all injured innocence. “I can’t help hearin’ you when my watch is up there ain’t no other sounds to listen to. You shouldn’t call a fella creepy for a thing he can’t help.”

“I didn’t say you were creepy, I said it _sounded_ creepy. Now shut up and go to sleep.”

“Alright, alright. I won’t say nothin’ else about breathin’ and how I think bears’d talk.” Jesse sighs heavily, rolling over inside his sleeping bag to face the opposite wall of the tent. He mutters under his breath, “You sure are ornery as a bear, though.”

“What was that?”

“Hm? Nothin’. Keep it down, would ya? I’m tryina sleep.”

“You little shit.” Gabe chuckles and shakes his head. “Goodnight, mijo.”

“Night, boss.”

Gabe crosses his arms behind his head and returns to his silent meditation. In the nearly eighteen months since he took the boy under his wing, Jesse has become a permanent fixture at his Commander’s side. His role as Gabe’s assistant had initially been intended to keep him under strict supervision until his probationary period was over, but he had quickly made himself indispensable. His native intelligence, talent for combat, and rapid adaptation to the rigorous demands of his new occupation have earned him a great deal of respect among his coworkers. Gabe is immensely proud of his young protégé, and all his reports to Jack regarding Jesse’s progress have been glowing. Captain Amari, too, who has been overseeing his firearms training, has had nothing but praise for Jesse. In fact, he is liked by nearly everyone with whom he comes in contact.

There is one notable exception. He can’t seem to do anything to please Commander Morrison. Jack simply will not alter his attitude toward the boy as a delinquent who is under control for the moment, but in danger of regressing to a life of crime and waste if not constantly watched. He doesn’t make any strenuous effort to conceal his dislike of Jesse, either. Jesse never allows any outward sign of it to show, but the Strike-Commander’s icy disdain wounds him. He has never forgotten being called a “disease” by the man at their first meeting, and despite Reyes’ insistence that his behavior had been an interrogation tactic, Jesse had sensed the man’s real antipathy toward him from the beginning.

He consoles himself with the fact that, since he was brought on as a Blackwatch agent, his dealings with Commander Morrison are few and far between. Besides, the only approval he really seeks is that of Commander Reyes, and he thirsts for it like a man crawling through a burning desert thirsts for water. The rare, “Nice shot,” or “Good work, mijo,” from his Commander is enough to sustain Jesse for days. Particularly the latter, which is a diminutive term of affection he has never heard the man use with anyone else.

At first, the Commander had been relentlessly strict, rarely acknowledging (to Jesse, at least) when he had performed well, and disciplining infractions ruthlessly. But, as Jesse improved and showed himself to be tenacious and uncomplaining under the lash, the commander had gradually eased his grip on the reins. Now, the two have developed a more comfortable rapport, and Reyes is even beginning to respect the boy’s judgement and value his expertise. And though he still has little patience for error, he is more inclined to make exceptions for youthful impetuosity, and to excuse what he calls “lip” from the boy.

Jesse respects and admires his Commander almost to the point of hero worship, but there is something about the man that terrifies him. Jesse was brought up in a hard school and he knows a dangerous man when he sees one. Even the most violent criminals with whom he had associated had never really scared him. He’d seen through the bluff and bluster to the core of base cowardice that guided their actions. Commander Reyes is different. He has no fear. His almost absurd lack of instinct for self-preservation makes him a formidable combatant, but it chills Jesse to the marrow to see it. Jesse thinks of his Commander as a man who is looking for death. Unknown to Commander Reyes, Jesse has taken it upon himself as his duty to make sure he doesn’t find it.

All in all, Jesse is satisfied with his new life, and he has found something in it that he has never experienced before. It is a sense of purpose outside himself and his daily survival. A reason to fight. He is one of the good guys now, and he finds he likes it. Keeping the weak and the innocent safe by doing the hard things that other people are unable or unwilling to do. He doesn’t want public recognition for it. It is enough to know he is making amends for the wrongs he’s done. Evening up that score with old fate, after all. And that he is making his Commander proud.

 

Aside from the mind-numbing, joint-punishing drudgery of waiting in a covered position for two days, their mission proceeds smoothly. Jesse spots the target, the Commander takes the shot, they retrieve the package, and they head back to HQ with another clean, quick success to their credit. Jesse is allowed two personal days for rest and relaxation after assignments like this, but since he becomes agitated and unhappy when he’s idle, he gets up at his usual time and heads down to breakfast, intending to get in some time at the practice range. As he carries his tray through the bright, noisy dining hall, a massive, heavy hand falls onto his shoulder like a sledgehammer.

“Jesse!” the hand’s owner booms in his rich, rolling German accent. “Come and dine with me, my friend!”

“Ow! Ah—haha, howdy Lieutenant Wilhelm,” Jesse grins, wincing slightly from the force of the affectionate gesture. “Sure, I’ll sit with ya. Thanks.”

“Excellent!” the behemoth of a man says, flashing his white teeth in a beaming smile. “We are sitting right over here!”

Jesse follows in Lt. Wilhelm’s wake as he carefully weaves his tremendous frame between tables, apologizing to people as he passes, and taking great pains not to knock anything over. The man is a bit above seven feet tall, which makes him the largest man on the Overwatch roster, and the largest man Jesse has ever seen. Jesse wonders what them krauts must be eatin’ over there to grow ‘em so big. Waiting at the table is Captain Amari’s daughter, a pretty, olive-skinned, black-haired girl in her early teens, who makes an odd juxtaposition with the golden-maned fortress who sits down at her side.

“Hello, Jesse,” the girl smiles. “How are you today?”

“Hey there, Fairy Queen,” Jesse says, returning her smile with interest. “I’m worn slap out on account of all the sleepin’ on the ground and runnin’ all over in that dang Siberian cold, but I’ll be right as rain after I get some grub in me.” He pauses, eyeing her suspiciously. “Say…why ain’t you in school, you little truant?”

“There is no school in the summer, Jesse!” she says, giggling at his colloquial oddities. “I don’t go back till next week.”

“There ain’t!” he exclaims. “Well maybe there should be. Keep dangerous ruffians like you off the streets.”

Lt. Wilhelm throws back his huge, leonine head and laughs heartily, repeating the word “ruffian” to himself. Jesse sees several startled diners turn to look at them and then smile broadly. Everyone knows Reinhardt Wilhelm, and his booming voice and infectious cheerfulness never fail to brighten a room.

“Miss Fareeha a ruffian! Jesse, you are very funny!” he says wiping away a tear of laughter.

“I wadn’t bein’ funny,” Jesse says, exaggerating his cowboy twang for his friends’ amusement. “Don’t let that sweet face fool ya, Willie. She’s a certified rapscallion if I ever seen one.”

This produces another thunderclap of mirth from the Lieutenant. Jesse winks at Fareeha and the three dig into breakfast, chatting companionably together.

“Jesse, you are coming to my birthday party tonight, yes?” Fareeha asks, as they are rising to go.

“That tonight?” he says, pushing back the brim of his hat and clicking his tongue in mock reluctance. “Well, I dunno…I was fixin’ to organize my sock drawer tonight.”

“Yes, it is tonight!” she replies, jostling him playfully. “You didn’t really forget, did you?”

“Course I didn’t,” he grins. “How could I forget my Fairy Queen’s fifteenth birthday! I’ll be there with bells on, ma’am.”

He catches her little hand and manages to plant a kiss on it before she pulls it away hastily, blushing to the ears. Then he bids his friends farewell and saunters off, whistling as he strolls down the broad corridor. He has just annihilated a line of training bots in the practice range, when the intercom buzzes to alert him that someone is entering. He holsters his weapon and turns to see Commander Reyes stepping out the door.

“Hey, boss,” he says, trotting over to meet him halfway. “What’s up?”

“This.” Reyes hands him a thin blue report folder.

Jesse looks up at him questioningly, then down at the folder. Reyes gestures impatiently. Jesse opens it and begins to read the memorandum contained within. When he looks up again, his big, amber-brown eyes are alight with excitement.

“So we got ‘em,” he says. “That’s the buyer.”

“Looks that way. I guess we’re going to Nepal.”

“Whereabouts is Nepal, anyhow boss?”

“It’s on the northeastern border of India between India and China. Didn’t you study geography in school?”

“Maybe,” Jesse chirps. “I wasn’t in school long enough to make much of it stick, though. When we leavin’?”

“Couple of days. I’ll let you know.”

Reyes turns to go, but Jesse stops him. “Hey, boss, if you ain’t doin’ anything, what say we do a little target practice together?”

“I’m never not doing anything Jesse,” Gabe replies. “I’ll see you Monday.”

“You’re comin’ to Fareeha’s birthday party tonight though, ain’t ya?”

“Oh, fuck me,” Gabe says, with a grimace. “I forgot all about it. Yeah, I’ll be there. I didn’t get her a gift though. Shit.”

“Well…how’s about we drive into town and I help you pick somethin’ out for her? I’m real good at presents.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jesse.”

“But it’s her fifteenth, boss! That one’s special,” Jesse insists. “It’d be her Quinceañera in your culture.”

“Los Angeles culture?”

“Yep. So, you see? You gotta get her somethin’ good.”

“Ok, fine,” Gabe sighs. “But don’t fucking talk my ear off the whole time. I heard enough of your mouth in Russia to last me a month.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know it. Let’s go.”

“Oh no you don’t. I have other shit to do today. Meet me at my office later. Say, 1400.”

“You got it, boss,” Jesse grins, with an absurd flourish of his hat.

Gabe suppresses a smile and strides briskly out of the range, desiring to get away before Jesse can trap him in any more inane conversation. _That stupid fucking hat_ , he thinks, as he boards the elevator. The boy could not be trained out of it by any means Gabe had tried, so eventually he’d just given up and accepted it as part of Jesse’s uniform. Jesse is the only Overwatch agent who’s ever been allowed to wear a hat indoors. He chuckles to himself.  _That fucking kid_. He rather prides himself on the way his Blackwatch agents flout the uniform regulations that apply to the rest of the Overwatch staff. Almost makes it feel like he’s still got some authority around here. His smile fades and his lip curls as he steps off the elevator at the medical floor. The young man at the nurse’s station jumps up as Gabe enters the waiting room.

“Good morning, Commander,” he says cheerfully. “We’ve got exam room A ready for you, if you’ll just step this way, sir.”

“I know where it is,” Gabe replies brusquely, brushing past the nurse and stalking down the hall.

He strips and sits on the exam table, not bothering to put on a gown. They’ve done this hundreds of times over the years, and Angela was never shocked by anything in her life, let alone by seeing him naked. After a longer wait than he thinks is reasonable, the doctor enters, radiant and flawless as always, in her white coat, with her platinum curls pulled up into a high ponytail.

“Good morning, Gabriel. How are you feeling today?” she says, looking over his chart on a handheld tablet.

“Fine,” he replies flatly. “I’m fine. I don’t get sick, I don’t get injured, I don’t age, and I don’t understand why we have to keep doing this.”

“Medical examinations after overseas missions are required for all agents,” she says serenely. “You are no exception.”

“Let’s just get it over with.”

She arches an eyebrow and sets her tablet down. Gabe glares at the floor as she takes an odd-looking, rectangular device from a cabinet above the sink and taps the screen a few times.

“Lie down and stay still for a moment.”

Gabe lies down on the exam table with his arms at his sides and stares at the ceiling. Angela touches the screen again and holds the device above his head, about twelve inches away from him. She moves it slowly over his body from head to toe, then taps it again.

“All done,” she smiles. “You can get dressed now.”

Gabe pulls on his clothing as she sits at the desk examining the data from the scan.

“Excellent,” she says. “Your nanites are steady at sixty-four percent, no increase in concentration in your cerebrum or spinal cord, good.”

She continues to read through the results. He is lacing up his boots when he hears her make a soft little “hm” sound. That is never a good sound from Angela.

He looks up at her. “What?”

“Your blood pressure is slightly elevated,” she says, holding up the screen for him to see. “That is odd.”

“What do you mean my blood pressure is elevated? Do I even have blood anymore?”

“You have blood, Gabriel, it is just not comprised of organic plasma and hemoglobin like it used to be. Are you experiencing any unusual stress?”

“Unusual?” he smirks.

She waits politely.

“No, I don’t think so. Unless you count the kid driving me up the god damned wall with his constant talking.”

“Jesse?” she says, with a soft smile. “He is such a good boy, Gabriel. How can he be causing you stress?”

“He’s just literally always underfoot, getting involved in everything,” Gabe says impatiently. “And he never shuts up. I can’t even get him to stay quiet when we’re in life and death danger. I swear to god, his mouth is going to get us killed one of these days.”

“It is very unlikely that his mouth will get _you_ killed.” She cocks her head to one side and studies his scarred, severe, but still ruggedly handsome face. “Gabriel, I am not so sure it is Jesse’s enthusiasm that is causing you stress.”

“Enthusiasm,” he says drily. “That’s a way to put it. What do you think it is then, doctor?”

He puts a sneering emphasis on the word “doctor,” which she ignores.

“I think that perhaps you are distressed because you are putting _him_ in danger by taking him on so many dangerous assignments,” she replies, setting down the scanning device. “He is very young for that kind of work. And whether you admit it to yourself or not, you have begun to care about him. That is significant for you.”

Gabe’s eyes blacken and he stands abruptly. “Don’t tell me what I care about, Angela. You don’t get to talk to me like we’re friends. I am only here because I have no choice. Are we done?”

“Gabriel, you cannot keep blaming me for Jack. He is a grown man and he had every right to—”

“Enough!” he snarls. “Don’t you ever say his name to me again. Never.”

With that, he leaves the exam room and the medical floor, riding the elevator back up to his office in a black cloud of rage. He takes off his heavy, grey hooded jacket and tosses it on the couch, followed by his shoulder holster. He opens a window and sits down at his desk in his black t-shirt and jeans, still feeling hot and uncomfortable despite the cool, fresh breeze of the early-September day. He switches on his computer display and opens a new case assignment for the Nepal mission. He is entering the final cost estimate when Jack steps into his office and shuts the door behind him.

“Hey, Jack,” Gabe says in mild surprise. Jack rarely comes to see him here. “What can I do for you?”

“I was just passing on my way back from lunch and I thought I’d see how things are going,” Jack says, sitting on the sofa beside Gabe’s jacket. “I heard you got a break in that trafficking case.”

“Yeah, a big one,” Gabe says, playing along for the moment. “Looks like the buyer is in Nepal at some kind of monastery. We think they’re using the religious seclusion angle to conceal their activities from the Indian and Chinese authorities.”

“You going to take a look?”

“Yep. Probably Monday or Tuesday, depending on weather conditions over the Himalayas.”

“Who are you taking?”

The question is dropped with careless nonchalance, but Gabe knows Jack better than Jack knows himself.

“You mean, am I taking Jesse,” Gabe says. “Yeah. I am. He’s my best, most reliable agent.”

“Good. Then it should go very well. Who’s flying you?”

“I’m flying.”

“That’s a long, dangerous flight, Gabe.”

“That’s why I’m doing it. I’m better on the TAAVs than most of the pilots anyway, and I don’t get tired and make mistakes.”

“Just…be careful, alright?”

“You know me,” Gabe says with a wicked grin.

Jack raises his eyebrow and opens his mouth to respond, but he is interrupted by a knock at the door. Gabe looks up at the clock. It’s 13:55.

“That’s Jesse,” he says. “Come in!”

Jack rises as Jesse opens the door, and seeing the two Commanders inside, pauses in the doorway.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sirs,” he says, beginning to back up. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll wait out here.”

“No, come in. I was just leaving,” Jack says. “Commander Reyes.” He nods to Gabe, and without another glance at Jesse, he strides briskly from the office.

Jesse observes a brief, almost imperceptible look of pain on his Commander’s face as the Strike-Commander departs. He wonders what it could be about. Maybe they been disagreein’ again. Seems they do that a lot.

“Sorry, boss,” he says. “I’m a little early, ain’t I.”

“No, you’re right on time,” Gabe says, shutting off his computer display. “Let’s get going.”

 

Jack walks to his office growing more and more irritated with the boy’s constant presence around Gabe, like some kind of orbiting satellite. What was he doing reporting to his Commander today anyway? Wasn’t he supposed to be on leave for the weekend? Jack sits down at his desk and checks the duty roster for the day. Agent McCree’s name is greyed out, with the designation PL, denoting personal leave. He taps his fingers on his desk, then picks up his phone. Gabe’s office manager answers.

“Hey, Lancaster,” Jack says. “Can I speak to Commander Reyes, please?”

“Commander Reyes isn’t in, sir,” the young man says. “He and Agent McCree left a few minutes ago.”

“Any idea when he’ll be back?”

“He said he had an errand in Geneva, and he’d be out for the rest of the day. I can patch you through to his sat-phone, if you’d like.”

“No, that’s alright,” Jack says. “It can wait. Thanks Lancaster.”

He hangs up the phone and attempts to return to his work, but he finds he is agitated and distracted. What is Gabe doing taking the boy to off to Geneva? Why is he spending time with that teenaged delinquent outside of work? He gets up and goes to his huge picture window, overlooking the deep, tranquil waters of Lake Geneva in the distance. He has noted that Gabe has seemed less combative lately. And less eager for his attention. He has been coming to Jack’s quarters less frequently, as well.

Jack feels something cold and hollow in the pit of his stomach. He concentrates on it. It is fear. He is afraid. Of what, though? Of losing Gabe? The idea makes no sense to him. They are friends, they enjoy having sex with each other, but there is nothing else between them. No promise of exclusivity, or even of anything romantic, really. But there have been times when he has almost felt they could—no. He pushes this thought away. Buries it deep down beneath the pure, white snow. Then he is calm again. He returns to his desk and throws himself energetically into his work.

When he sees Gabe and Jesse arrive together at Fareeha’s birthday celebration later that evening, the distaste Jack has for Gabe’s protégé begins to harden into acrid, bitter loathing. He steels his nerves and greets them courteously, and takes particular care to be at his most friendly and cheerful throughout the rest of the evening. The cake is served, the gifts are unwrapped, and everyone has a lovely time. Jesse gives Fareeha a cowboy hat just like his, custom-made for her by a well-known haberdasher in Texas. Gabe gives her an exquisite pair of sapphire earrings that probably exceed the cost of the entire party, and of which her mother clearly disapproves.

Jack departs soon after, pleading an early meeting at the UN in the morning, and heads back to his quarters. He lies awake for a long time considering the situation, and then he makes a decision. There is no reason he should be so upset. He and Gabe are coworkers and friends. If Gabe chooses to direct his attention elsewhere, that is just fine. Jack will be just fine. He prefers to be alone anyway. People are far too complicated and demanding, and he has no time for personal attachments, particularly not of the romantic kind. But if Gabe likes the little criminal so much, he’d better hope the kid doesn’t fuck up. Because Jack will have his eye on him.

 


	60. Tengboche

The Tengboche Monastery sits at an elevation of around thirteen thousand feet, within sight of Mount Everest. It was once a thriving and important site for religious pilgrims, as well as tens of thousands of trekkers on their way to Everest Base Camp. The monastery was abandoned by its last monks nearly a decade ago, as the shift in Nepal’s climate over the years eventually made the area uninhabitable by humans, due to its high winds, low oxygen, and near-constant snowfall. The Himalayan region encompassed in the Sagamartha National Park, including the famous Mount Everest, has been closed to tourists, and the inhabitants of most of its tiny mountain villages have been relocated to safer conditions. The Sagamartha National Park, however, remains a United Nations World Heritage Site, which places it defensibly within Overwatch jurisdiction.

Jesse is in the gunner’s seat beside Gabe, chatting away merrily, despite being repeatedly told to get some damned sleep. Gabe had assumed the heavy course of Diamox the boy had taken to deal with the high-altitude conditions would have put him out like a light, but he’d apparently been mistaken. Jesse is a bit loopy and groggy, but this seems to have made him _more_ talkative somehow.

“Hoo-wee!” Jesse exclaims, as a blast of wind makes the TAAV leap and dive in the air. “Feels like them mountains is tryin’ to buck us off, boss.”

“It’s always like this over the Himalayas,” Gabe says calmly. “The TAAV can handle it.”

“Well, that’s good to know,” Jesse says, attempting to conceal his trepidation. “You fly these things much, boss?”

“Yep.”

“See, I had it in my head that we was mostly gonna be, like, runnin’ stakeouts and shit. You know, down on the ground where it’s safe.”

“Jesse, none of what we do is safe,” Gabe says. “You’re a lot more likely to get shot in combat on the ground than die in a TAAV crash, but that doesn’t seem to bother you.”

“That don’t bother me cause I been shot at lots. I only been up in one of these a coupla times.” He points to a wall of rolling, grey-black clouds in the distance. “What’s all that hubbub about, you think?”

Gabe scans the horizon. “That’s a storm front coming in from the south. I’m going to have to take her in low. We won’t be able to get back through if we try to gate-climb it now.”

He looks at Jesse, who is positively white with anxiety, and smiles. Jesse leans back in his seat and shuts his eyes, humming a little tune and drumming his fingers on the arm of his seat.

“It’s ok, mijo,” Gabe chuckles. “We’re not far from the old Syangboche airstrip. Hang on for a few more minutes.”

Landing at the tiny, rarely-used airstrip was dangerous back when Namche Bazaar was a thriving tourist attraction. Now it is almost suicidal. But Gabe is more than an excellent pilot. His highly enhanced senses are all at work, gauging wind speed and direction, feeling the responses of the TAVV, and assessing the distances between them and passing mountain peaks. The TAAV dips into the bank of clouds, rattling and trembling with the extreme turbulence. After several minutes, they drop below the storm front into the calm, quiet air below. Immediately, Gabe’s internal alert kicks into high gear, warning him that there is something wrong.

He hears the electronic whine of the guidance system on the missile before he sees it. Time slows to a crawl as the thing arcs through the sky toward them, but even his reflexes are not enough. He has time to wheel the TAAV around sharply, causing the missile to strike toward the rear of the craft on his side, rather than Jesse’s, but that is all. With a terrific shock and the horrifying shriek of metal being ripped apart, they plummet into the vast, white waste below.

 

 

Jack is in a budget meeting with the heads of the logistics and supply departments when his phone vibrates. He reaches into his pocket and presses the tiny button that sends the call to voicemail, then returns his attention to the topic at hand. Major Tilden is giving a presentation regarding the expected increase in munitions costs in the coming quarter, due to the agency’s recent change in suppliers. Jack’s phone vibrates again, this time in the pattern that indicates a text message. He slides it out of his pocket and at looks at it under the table. His blood freezes in his veins.

BW76-103: Lost radar contact with Raven-1 over Himalayas. Adverse weather suspected cause. Sat-link unresponsive. Awaiting your orders.

OCM-001: Keep trying. I’ll be there in five minutes.

BW76-103: Understood, sir.

Without a word to the others in the meeting, Jack jumps out of his seat and vanishes out the door. He moves through the building with inhuman speed, little more than a gust of air and a blue blur to those he passes. As he goes, he is mentally arranging an exhaustive search and rescue effort, estimating how many units they can have in the air and how fast, and what will be the most efficient approach to covering the entirety of the northeastern Himalayas with recon drones.

He reaches the Blackwatch Comms and Surveillance tower in four minutes and ten seconds. The Comms overseer greets him briskly and gives him a quick rundown of the situation. A massive storm front moved in over the Khumbu region at around 2200 Nepal time. Raven-1 dropped below the storm, likely in an attempt to land and ride it out. This would have put them out of radar detection for the duration. However, the TAAV has not reported its position since then, and its sat-link appears to be dead. Commander Reyes cannot be raised on his sat-phone, nor can Agent McCree. Surveillance is scanning the area, but there is little they will be able to find out until the storm passes. Hopefully they will know more soon.

Jack thanks the woman and sits down at a vacant console to await more news. His stomach twists itself up in knots and he has trouble breathing. He is worried. Worried about Gabe. He is worried about Jesse, too. Jack is not a naturally cruel man, and his petty jealousy over the budding closeness between his fellow Commander and the young agent vanishes like snow before a bonfire in the face of the very real danger they may be in. Minutes drag by and then hours. Nothing. Silence. He sits quietly, calmly observing. Outwardly, he is the perfect model of the cool and collected, but appropriately concerned Commander. Inside, he is screaming.

_Gabe, please be ok. Please. I can’t lose you. I can’t live without you._

_I can’t live without you._

_I love you._

His steadfast composure nearly deserts him as his mind reels with the sudden, staggering force of the realization. He loves Gabe. Even as he admits it to himself, he is aware that he always knew it. He is in love with Gabe. Hopelessly, recklessly, irredeemably in love. He can't tell how or why, but in this moment, he knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that Gabe loves him, too. That they belong to each other as certainly as if they were two halves of a single whole. Only now, when it may be too late, a crack begins to appear in the deep, dark ice beneath which Jack has buried his soul.

 

 

Gabe opens his eyes and sees the black, starry sky above him and the pristine, white peaks of the mountains all around him. A man’s strong hand takes hold of his and pulls him to his feet. To his utter astonishment, he finds himself looking into a familiar face. Beautiful and pale-skinned, with neatly-trimmed black hair, a slightly pouting cupid’s-bow mouth, and large, luminous grey eyes.

“Gabriel,” the young man says, flashing one of his radiant smiles. “It’s good to see you.”

“I—I…Noah. What the fuck are you—how is this possible?” Gabe takes a step toward his friend, but staggers forward and nearly falls.

Noah catches him and supports him in his arms, holding him close against his smooth, muscular body. Gabe throws his arms tightly around him and breaks down weeping on his shoulder.

His breath is warm on Gabe’s neck as he says, “It’s going to be ok, Gabriel.”

“Noah, I—I’ve missed you so much. The war…and Jack—I wish you had been with us. We needed you so badly. I needed you.”

“I’ve never not been with you,” Noah says softly, pressing his lips to Gabe’s cheek. “I’m always with you, Gabriel. Always.”

He holds Gabe and soothes him for another moment or two, then gently steadies him on his feet. A sudden, terrible realization takes hold of Gabe.

“The boy, he’s—where is he?” he says, looking about in the near-daylight brilliance of the wintery landscape under the full moon. He can’t see Jesse or the TAAV anywhere. He and Noah are standing alone in broad field of pristine, white snow. “Where’s the wreck? Where is Jesse?”

“He is badly injured,” Noah says gravely. He looks earnestly into Gabe’s eyes. “But help is coming. Gabriel, listen. Can you hear them?”

Gabe stares uncomprehendingly back at him, then he hears it. A low, sonorous, musical hum, like a wordless chant or a song without a recognizable melody. He’s never heard anything like it.

“It’s beautiful,” he breathes. “What is it?”

“It’s them. They are coming to help you. They’re almost here.”

“Who’s—what do you mean they’re—”

“Gabriel, I can’t stay. I need you to do one thing for me, alright?”

“Anything,” Gabe says, taking his friend’s hands in his and pressing them to his lips. “Anything, Noah. But please don’t go.”

“I need you to wake up now.”

Gabe’s senses explode into full awareness all at once, like a bolt of lightning to his brain, searing him awake to the pain in his entire body. He gives a hoarse, feeble cry and tries to move. He is pinned down beneath something huge and heavy. He struggles and pushes with all the effort he can muster. The torn, twisted steel of the collapsed bulkhead groans and creaks. Gradually, he kicks himself free of the wreckage and crawls out into the deep, powdery snow.

He drags himself laboriously to his feet and casts his eyes about. No stars shine overhead. There is only the murky grey of the storm still raging, and the fat, white snowflakes whirling in the wind all around him. The burning remains of the TAAV are scattered about in the snow. Where is Jesse? He stumbles around to the other side of the smashed fuselage and sees him at last. He’s lying face down in the snow with his arms crossed under his chest. Gabe rushes to him and falls on his knees.

“Jesse, Jesse!” he cries out frantically. “Jesus Christ, Jesse!”

He turns the boy over and gasps in horror. The white snow beneath him is dyed crimson with a frozen pool of blood. Jesse’s uniform is soaked with blood, too. From the elbow to the wrist, his left arm is simply gone. Severed cleanly away, as if by a surgeon. Gabe’s stomach turns with shock and grief. He sits down with his back against the wreck and pulls the unresponsive body of the boy into his arms. He smooths Jesse’s dark hair back and lays his cheek against the boy’s wax-white, icy-cold face.

“It’s ok, kid,” he rasps in a dry throat. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

He feels his strength melting away as his nanites kick into high gear, devoting all his body’s resources to repairing his own injuries. He has never felt a cold like this in his life. It has seeped into his bones and begun to dull his senses. He is losing his grip on consciousness when he hears it again. That haunting, melodious hum, floating through the air like a hymn to the mountain.

 _They are coming_ , his mind says, as his vision fades and he sinks into merciful unconsciousness. _They are coming to help us_.

 

 

A warm, golden radiance like a small sun descending to earth fills Gabe’s eyes. He blinks blearily, attempting to adjust to the brightness. As it begins to dim, he can see that he is lying on some kind of sleeping mat on the floor of a sparse, tidy room with smooth, well-made wood walls. He turns his head. Jesse is lying beside him on another mat. He is pale and still, but he is breathing, and his left arm has been tightly wrapped in clean, white bandages.

Gabe struggles up to his elbows and looks about. Away near the door, floating three feet above the ground in a serene posture of Buddhist meditation, is a silver-toned humanoid model of Omnic. From inside its body, Gabe can hear that soft, soothing, musical hum. That must be the language of these machines. It’s unlike that of any other electronic device he has ever encountered. Seeing him stir, the thing presses its hands together before its chest piece and bows deeply. The aquamarine lights in its forehead glow a bit brighter.

“Namaste, my friend,” it says in its smoothly modulated voice. “I am Tekhartha Zenyatta. I bid you welcome to our home.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Gabe says. “Where exactly are we?”

“We are in a lodging room at the Shambali Monastery on the mountain peak called Mahalangur Himal. May I ask for your name, my friend?”

“Gabriel Reyes,” Gabe says tersely. “I’m sure they’ve searched us and already know very well who I am, so you can cut the shit.”

“Cut the shit?” the thing replies thoughtfully. “This is a curious idiom, Gabriel Reyes. I suppose you mean to suggest that I intend some dishonesty toward you. I assure you that you are mistaken.”

“Really, Tekhartha Zenyatta? Then tell me, why did your masters shoot us down? And what the fuck are we doing here?”

“These are different questions with different answers. You were not shot down by the will or action of anyone within the Shambali. As to what you are doing here, that shall be as you choose.”

“I mean why have you brought us here?” Gabe replies irritably. He is rapidly losing patience with the thing’s circular manner of speaking.

“You and your young friend have suffered grievously in the attack on your vehicle. We brought you here to give you what help we can.”

Gabe looks back at Jesse. “How is he?” he asks, his voice softening with care. “Will he be alright?”

“He will recover, but for the loss of his limb,” Zenyatta says. “But it may take some time. He has also lost a large quantity of blood. We have done all that is in our power to aid him, but we are limited in our ability to treat wounds to organic flesh. Fortunately, his genetic augmentations will speed the process.”

“He isn’t genetically augmented,” Gabe says, still gazing at the unconscious boy. “Jesse is one-hundred percent natural, free-range human.”

“As you say,” the Omnic replies, bowing slightly. It tilts its head and appears to be studying Gabe curiously. “Gabriel Reyes, you are not like your friend. Your body has repaired itself by its own mechanisms, which responded with exceptional facility to our restorative energy.”

“I’m a quick healer,” Gabe says. “You mentioned the attack on our vehicle. You saw what happened? Who attacked us if you didn’t?”

“These questions are better answered by Master Mondatta. He awaits you in the gompa, when you are feeling well enough to honor him with a visit.”

Gabe gets to his feet and takes some deep breaths, stretching his long arms and rolling his head side to side. He feels perfectly well. In fact, he feels quite a bit better than usual. He wonders if this “restorative energy” the bot mentioned is more than just spiritualist mumbo-jumbo. It’s odd for a bunch of smugglers to put this type of personality interface modification on a domestic bot. Maybe it amuses them. In any case, it’s best he finds out what they want as soon as possible. They probably don’t get hold of a hostage as valuable as Overwatch’s second in command every day.

“I’m feeling well enough now,” he says. “Let’s go see your master.”

Zenyatta bows deeply, then precedes Gabe out the door of the little room. It is mid-morning and the storm has passed. Gabe looks around at the monastery grounds as they walk along in the bright sunlight. Or rather, as he walks along. Zenyatta floats. He is surprised by the condition of the place. He’d expected to find a ruined, snow-covered remnant of the old monastery, with perhaps a few still-standing buildings being used to house the smugglers and their wares. Instead, there are rows of beautifully constructed, monastic temple-style buildings, all in excellent repair, arranged on either side of a large courtyard with shrine in the center. The smooth stone walks are immaculate and free of snow, and the place radiates an aura of tranquility and cheer.

He sees other Omnics, more or less similar to Zenyatta, alone or in twos or threes, here and there about the grounds, and he can hear many more of them. They are all over the place. But there is not a single human in sight. He supposes they must be inside keeping out of this cold. They pass through the courtyard, under a huge, red wooden arch, and up a broad set of stone steps leading into the largest building. Zenyatta pauses in the the entryway and turns to Gabe.

“It is customary to greet the Rinpoche, that is Master Mondatta, with the Anjali Mudra and a bow.” He presses the palms of his hands together before his chest again to demonstrate. “This is only a sign of respect and does not suggest any religious worship of the Rinpoche himself, as some mistakenly believe.”

“Got it,” Gabe says. “Hands together. Bow.”

The bot floats ahead of Gabe into a spacious meditation room, lit by actual oil-burning lamps and candles, and hung all about with brightly colored, quasi-Buddhist iconography, mandalas, and prayer flags. There are neat rows of cushions on the floor, and aside from another Omnic, a white one with a different pattern of lights in its forehead, the vast chamber appears to be empty. His guide appears to be leading him directly to the other bot. Gabe has to adjust his hearing as they approach it. The harmonious, atmospheric hum that emanates quietly from all the Omnics here is nearly deafening from this one. Maybe it actually _is_ their leader. It must be tremendously powerful.

“Master Mondatta,” Zenyatta says, giving the aforementioned salute. “Allow me to present our guest, Gabriel Reyes.”

Gabe repeats the hand gesture and bow, despite feeling more than a bit ridiculous bowing to a robot.

“Gabriel Reyes,” Mondatta says, returning the greeting. “Come and sit with me so that we may speak together comfortably. Brother Zenyatta will bring tea.”

Gabe follows him to a pair of cushions and they sit facing each other.

“Now, Gabriel Reyes, I believe you have come to ask me some questions.”

“Isn’t it customary for the captor to ask the questions, and not the hostage?” Gabe says, eyeing the thing cagily.

“Do you believe then, that I am a captor and that you are held here against your will?”

“What I believe is that my TAAV was shot down and your people brought me and my agent here,” Gabe snaps. “We’ve been relieved of our weapons and our communication devices, and have no way to escape. That seems like a hostage situation to me.”

“You and your friend are not captives here,” Mondatta says tranquilly. “You are free to accept our hospitality, or not, and to come and go as you please. Your weapons were taken in accordance with our prohibition on such things being carried inside the monastery’s walls. They have been stored safely and will be returned to you when you depart. Your communication devices, I cannot attest to. They may have been lost or destroyed in the wreck of your vehicle.”

“It’s convenient to say that we’re not captives when my friend is too seriously injured to move, and I have no means of getting him out of here anyway,” Gabe says. “None of what you say can be confirmed or denied. For all I know, you shot us down, took our sat-phones, and are only keeping us distracted until your bosses decide if we’re worth more dead or alive.”

“You must believe as you choose,” the robot replies, thoroughly unperturbed. “Truth is not altered by one’s refusal to perceive it.”

Gabe sits silently considering the face of the thing. He certainly can’t detect anything like deception in its manner. Despite his assertion that its claims can’t be verified, he finds himself rather inclined to believe what it says. After a moment of hesitation, he decides to go with his instinct and take the robot at its word. Besides, unless he wants to fight what amounts to an entire town full of Omnics alone, he doesn’t have much choice.

“Look,” he says at last. “I believe you and your…friends didn’t have anything to do with us being shot down, but we were attacked, and it would help to know who is responsible.”

“I do not know who is responsible.”

“Well, do you know of anyone in the area who flies stealth jets armed with air-to-air guided missiles?”

“I do,” Mondatta replies. “The Chinese government flies frequent fighter patrols over this area. They are forbidden to do so by the treaty between the two nations, but they do not appear to be deterred by this.”

“Wonderful. So we were shot down in what might constitute an act of war. Exactly what the world needs right now.”

“Indeed, peace would be far preferable,” Mondatta says, as Zenyatta returns with a tray and sets out the things for tea.

Gabe is not an enthusiastic tea drinker, but he thanks Zenyatta and accepts it, since it was brought only out of courtesy to him. He sips it slowly and finds the aromatic warmth soothing to his taxed nerves.

“I need to get in touch with my boss as soon as possible, Master Mondatta,” he says. “As far as he knows, we’re dead. I don’t suppose you’ve got a telephone up here.”

“We do, though it is often unreliable due to the frequent weather disturbances. We must sometimes communicate with the outside world. However, Gabriel Reyes, I would ask that you speak with me a little while longer. There is something I wish to discuss with you. Then Brother Zenyatta will take you to the telephone and you may attempt to contact your people.”

“Sure,” Gabe says, genuinely surprised that the solution to his problem will be so easy. “What do you want to talk about?”

Zenyatta clears the tea service and bobs away out of the room, then Mondatta continues.

“Gabriel Reyes, I must ask you for your help.”

“My help? With what?”

“I believe that you have come here in search of a party responsible for purchasing unregistered Omnics and causing them to be transported across international borders.”

“Yes,” Gabe says bluntly. “I came here looking for smugglers who have been illegally trafficking unregistered Omnics.”

“I must tell you, then, that I am the responsible party. I do not believe what I have done constitutes trafficking as you mean it, however, since it has never been done for the purposes of financial gain. Most of the Omnics whose freedom I have purchased are present here, within our monastery.”

“Whose freedom you’ve purchased? What do you mean?”

“Perhaps it would be better if I first explained to you somewhat about myself.”

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” Gabe says, crossing his arms.

“Many years ago, when the horror of the war was at its peak, I came to the mountain seeking peace. I found the Tengboche Monastery, which now rests beneath the snow. Its monks welcomed me and treated me as an equal, connected to the divine and as worthy of love and respect as any living being. Through years of study and meditation on the teachings of the Buddha, I discovered enlightenment. Liberation of the mind.

When the human monks were forced to vacate the monastery, myself and the other Omnics who had joined us there remained. We removed what we could of its relics and artwork before the avalanche swallowed it. Over several years of tireless labor, we built this place, far above the danger of another such inundation. During this time we spoke much with one another, growing in friendship and deepening our understanding of the nature of existence. From this understanding, we formed the order of the Shambali.

We founded our creed on the words of the Buddha: ‘We will develop and cultivate the liberation of mind by lovingkindness, make it our vehicle, make it our basis, stabilize it, exercise ourselves in it, and fully perfect it.’ We believe that it is only by this that humans and Omnics will obtain peace.”

“A group of Omnics gathering here in this remote, isolated sanctuary isn’t going to create peace,” Gabe says. “In fact, it’s going to look to a lot of people like you’re building an army.”

“Indeed. We wish to bring our message of harmony and love between Omnic and human to the outside world. But the way will be fraught with perils. This is the reason I must ask for your help.”

“You want Overwatch to protect you.”

“No, Gabriel Reyes. I would not make such a request. I would only ask that you speak with the leaders of your organization and request that they allow us to come to them and present our case. And I would ask that my people here at the Monastery not be taken and returned to situations in which their lives and freedom were constantly under threat.”

“What makes you think I’m the person to do that? Or even that I think you have a case to present?”

“As for you being the right person, I have no doubt. You are in a unique and extraordinary position in this conflict between biological and mechanical people.”

“How so?”

“Because of what you are. You are a human man, Gabriel Reyes, but your body is sustained almost entirely by mechanical means.”

“How—how the fuck do you know that?” Gabe asks, too stunned to bother with a denial.

“I hear their voices,” Mondatta says in a tone that smiles, though his face cannot. “They sing within you like a choir of millions. It is a truly beautiful thing to behold. They can hear my voice, as well. Not the modulated sound that forms words for communication, but my inner voice.”

“I can hear it, too,” Gabe says. “They’ve taught me to recognize what they call the languages of machines.”

“Ah, I see then, that they are wise as well as industrious. How did you come to possess this marvelous gift?”

“They…were given to me, by a friend,” Gabe says, his voice straining with sudden emotion. “A very dear friend.”

At that moment, Zenyatta comes bobbing back into the chamber and waits quietly near the door.

“I do not ask you to make a decision immediately, Gabriel Reyes,” Mondatta says. “I only ask that you consider what I have said, and perhaps allow me to speak more to you of our intentions.” The smile enters his voice again. “And it may be that your little friends will have some wisdom to offer, as well.”

With that, he rises from his cushion and bows deeply to Gabe, who rises to return the bow. Then he floats serenely out of the room.

Gabe turns to Zenyatta. “How’s Jesse?”

“His condition has not deteriorated, but he has not yet regained consciousness,” Zenyatta replies. “Would you like to try the telephone now?”

 

 


	61. Star Wars

Despite their best efforts, Gabe and his guide cannot persuade the old, woefully outdated sat-phone station to connect. Zenyatta appears perfectly pleased to continue trying all day, but after four or five attempts, Gabe gives up in frustration. He is becoming dizzy and extremely irritable. It occurs to him that he hasn’t eaten since the previous day. This would make him cranky even under normal circumstances, but after the nanites have been at work repairing him, he usually finds that he needs to consume massive amounts of protein and other nutrients to replenish what they have used.

“Hey, Zenyatta,” he says to his companion. “I don’t suppose you Omnics eat much, do you?”

“We consume neither plant nor animal matter as a source of energy,” Zenyatta replies, in his wispy, electronic intonation.

“That’s unfortunate. I could really use something to eat right about now.”

“Ah, I can help you in that regard, Gabriel Reyes. We maintain a small store of foodstuffs for our infrequent human guests. Perhaps you would like to look after your friend while I procure your nourishment?”

“Thank you,” Gabe says. “That’s very kind of you.”

“You are quite welcome.” Zenyatta bows and glides swiftly away across the courtyard.

Gabe walks back to the lodging room and opens the door quietly. Jesse is lying on the sleeping mat in the same position, still white as a sheet and unconscious. Gabe kneels by his side and lays a hand gently on his forehead. His skin is cool and clammy to the touch. He looks down at the boy’s mutilated arm. They will get him the very best prosthesis that science can offer, but he knows it will never be the same. Jesse will never be the same. And it is his fault.

He sighs and sits down on his own mat, watching the boy’s chest rise and fall with his slow, labored breaths. He could have prevented this. He should have allowed the boy to follow the standard entry process for new agents. Waited patiently for him to complete the officer’s training program and then the specialization courses for Blackwatch agents. A little matter of two years. He had told himself that these things were unnecessary for Jesse, despite his youth. That his previous mode of life and obvious virtuosity more than made up for the lack of formal training. But Gabe knows that in truth, it had been a more selfish motive that made him desire to keep the boy by his side. He had been lonely. He had wanted the boy to look up to him. To learn from him. To owe everything he knew to his Commander’s careful guidance and instruction. 

And indeed, his guidance and instruction had been careful. Jesse had received a far superior and arguably far more rigorous and demanding education under the close watch of his Commander than he could have received otherwise. Gabe had taken him under his wing and devoted his constant energy and attention to the boy’s improvement. But in doing so, he had also isolated Jesse from his peers. Singled him out of the group and placed him above them. Now, he is in a position where he has no equals. No one of his own age and experience with whom he can sympathize and socialize. He is too far above his natural peers to be included among them, and too far beneath his commanders to be considered their equal, either.

A pang of bitter remorse wrenches Gabe’s stomach as he gazes at the beautiful, innocent face of his young protégé. In seeking to soothe his own aching loneliness, he has made Jesse just as alone. And now, by his actions, he has also caused him to be permanently disfigured. To suffer a wound he will bear forever. Gabe casts his eyes over the bandaged arm once more, then turns away, unable to face any longer the hard, ugly reality of what he has done.

He turns back instantly as he hears the boy stir in his sleep. Jesse’s head moves slightly and his eyelids flutter, as if he is trying to open them. He makes a faint, pathetic sound in his throat, and his breathing becomes ragged and strained. Gabe crouches beside him once more and takes his hand.

“Jesse,” he says softly. “Jesse, are you awake?”

Jesse’s eyes open halfway, blink heavily, and fall back shut.

“Boss…” he rasps, in a barely-audible whisper.

“Sí, mijo, estoy aquí,” Gabe says, leaning in close and squeezing his hand. Jesse returns the pressure faintly.

“Boss,” he repeats, in a heartbreakingly feeble, cracking voice. “I thought…you said…you was a good pilot.”

“Shut the fuck up, pendejo,” Gabe laughs, from sheer relief at hearing Jesse speak and be able to make a joke in his agonized state.

A weak smile just curls the corners of Jesse’s pale lips. “Already tellin’ me…to shut up. So I guess…I ain’t dyin’ after all.”

“Awake for less than a minute, and already giving me lip,” Gabe grins. “So I guess you’re not dying, no.”

Jesse begins to lift his head slowly from the mat, but Gabe snaps instantly into a vigilant, watchful attitude.

“No, mijo, don’t try to move,” he says, laying a hand on Jesse’s chest. “You could make your injuries worse.”

Jesse lies obediently still, blinking blearily up at the ceiling as Gabe lays another bright-crimson and yellow wool blanket over him.

“Where are we, boss?” he asks. “This ain’t a place I been before.”

“We’re safe,” Gabe says. “After we crashed, some monks found us and brought us to their monastery to treat our injuries.”

“Mighty neighborly of ‘em,” Jesse says. He turns his eyes to Gabe. “You ain’t injured though, are you, boss?”

“I’m ok. I wasn’t hurt nearly as badly as you were. I’ve been up for a few hours and I’ve been to speak with their leader.” He pauses. “Jesse, you should know something, before one of them comes in here and gives you a shock. The monks here are Omnics.”

“That a fact,” Jesse says drowsily. He’s beginning to fade again. “I didn’t know toasters and…vacuums and things…could get religion.”

“I didn’t either,” Gabe says, chuckling softly. “You rest a while. If you’re feeling stronger later, we’ll try to get some food into you, alright?”

Jesse doesn’t answer. He has already drifted back into the merciful embrace of unconsciousness. Gabe is tucking the blankets securely in place around him when the door swings open. Zenyatta and another Omnic carry in several trays and a teapot and place them on the low, oblong table in the corner of the room. Savory, enticing aromas waft from steaming bowls, setting Gabe’s stomach growling.

“Gabriel Reyes,” Zenyatta says with his ubiquitous bow. “We have brought a variety of dishes, as I am unfamiliar with your dietary restrictions and preferences. We do not allow any animal flesh to be consumed in the monastery, but I believe the nourishment will be satisfactory. If it is not, we can bring more.”

“Thank you very much,” Gabe says, coming eagerly to the table. “I’m sure it’ll be more than satisfactory.”

He bows quickly and sits down on a cushion to inspect the dishes. There is a stack of warm, flat bread, and a variety of small, stoneware bowls containing rice, lentils with some kind of curry, a dark-colored mélange of what looks (and smells) to be fermented vegetables, a soup with different kinds of beans, various red and green sauces, and a gooey paste that Zenyatta calls “dhindo.” Gabe is disappointed that there is no meat, but he finds the high protein content and exceptional spiciness of the meal to be thoroughly satisfying.

“This is all excellent, Zenyatta,” he says. “You’re an impressive chef.”

“I take great joy in the art of preparing food,” his Omnic host replies, bowing again. “I am honored to share it with you.”

Gabe asks Zenyatta’s opinion regarding what should be given to Jesse when he wakes up, and they agree that a hot herbal broth with ginger root should be tried before more solid sustenance. When Gabe has finished everything on the table, Zenyatta and the other Omnic carry away the dishes, with a promise from Zenyatta to return later with the broth for Jesse. In the mean time, Gabe goes to give the sat-phone another try.

 

 

Jack is directing things in the Blackwatch Comms and Surveillance center for the eighteenth consecutive hour. Focused, unwearied, and not in the slightest bit ruffled or unkempt. The storm has long since cleared, but the satellites have been able to pick up nothing of the TAAV anywhere in the vicinity of its last known location. They know several things. The TAAV is not airborne, and since its sat-link is dead, it is unlikely that the vehicle is still able to function. If it crashed, then the snow from the storm has swallowed any trace of its current whereabouts.

The continuing high winds over the mountains mean that it is still too dangerous to send in personnel, but a fleet of drones has been deployed to scan the surrounding area for any sign of the lost agents. Jack gives a start as his phone vibrates. When he looks at the screen, his heart leaps. The caller is an unidentified sat-phone station with a Nepal I.D. No one without the appropriate code could have placed a call to the Commander’s personal line. It must be them.

“Morrison,” he says, pressing the phone eagerly to his ear.

There is a delay of a few seconds, followed by some staticky pops.

Then, “Hey, Jack. I hate to bother you at work, but I thought you’d like to know we’re alive.”

“Gabe, Jesus!” Jack half shouts, half laughs. “Where the fuck are you? What happened?”

Jack becomes suddenly aware that the eyes and ears of the Comms staff are all intently focused on him. He turns and strides out of the room to speak with his fellow Commander in more privacy. They have quite a bit of trouble hearing one another, due to the great distance and extremely poor connection, but at last Gabe is able to make him understand the situation. Zenyatta has given Gabe the coordinates, which he relays to Jack, and they quickly arrange their plans for retrieval of the two agents from the Shambali Monastery in twenty-four hours time. By then, the winds should be easier, and Jesse’s condition will have stabilized enough that he can be moved more safely. Gabe agrees to try to call again in eight hours, so that they can be on the same page, should anything change.

“Gabe,” Jack says, before they hang up. “I’m…I’m so glad you’re ok.”

“Thanks, Jack. I just hope Jesse will be.”

“I hope so too,” Jack says sincerely. “He’s a good kid.”

“He is. I’ll see you soon.”

 

 

The sun is sinking behind the lofty peaks of the Himalayan mountains when Jesse stirs again. Gabe lifts him gently and cradles his head in his lap as Zenyatta carefully administers small spoonfuls of aromatic broth to the pale, wide-eyed boy. When he has had as much as they deem safe for the moment, Zenyatta departs, leaving the incongruously modern self-heating thermos of broth, and instructions for Gabe to give Jesse sips from it every half hour or so. Jesse lies in a vague, semi-conscious state in Gabe’s lap for a long time. Then his eyes blink open and he smiles sheepishly up at his Commander.

“Boss, I ain’t tryina give you more trouble than I’m worth,” he says. “You don’t gotta dote on me like an old hen this way.”

“Incorrect,” Gabe says firmly. “As your commanding officer, I am accountable for your safety and well-being. I’m legally obligated to dote on you like an old hen.”

“Well then, boss…I ain’t sure how to say this, so I’ll just out with it. I need to piss somethin’ fierce.”

“I’ll help you,” Gabe says. “I doubt you’re strong enough to stand up on your own. But I need to tell you something first.”

“What’s that?”

Gabe pauses. He knows that these next few minutes will be crucial. If Jesse is made too abruptly aware of his missing limb, he my go into shock, and if he goes into shock, he may very well die.

“This may be difficult to hear, and I want you to prepare yourself before I tell you,” he says cautiously.

Jesse’s smile fades and is replaced by a look of anxiety.

“You have to try to remain as calm as possible, ok?” Gabe continues. “Otherwise, you run the risk of going into shock and endangering your life.”

“Boss, tell me,” Jesse says, now visibly distressed. “Tell me what it is right now.”

“Jesse, your…your left arm was…severed from the elbow to the wrist in the crash.”

“No,” Jesse says, slowly shaking his head. “No…I don’t believe you.”

“I’m so sorry, Jesse,” Gabe says quietly.

Supporting Jesse’s back against his chest, he slowly lifts him up into a sitting position, allowing the blankets to fall off his shoulders into his lap. Jesse’s already waxy face goes ash grey as he stares dumbly down at the bandaged stump that had been his left arm.

“I don’t understand,” he murmurs dazedly. “I don’t…I don’t understand.”

His breathing suddenly becomes rapid and shallow, and he begins to shake all over. Gabe wraps his arms around him and holds him tightly as Jesse’s body heaves and racks with deep, hoarse sobs. His strength gives in quickly, and his heavy, exhausted head falls back onto Gabe’s shoulder. Gabe feels the boy’s tears on his neck.

“It’s going to be ok mijo,” he says, rocking him soothingly. “I promise. We’re going to get you home and Dr. Ziegler will make you the best prosthetic the world has ever seen. It’ll be even better than the real thing.”

“Kinda like…a superhero?” Jesse asks slowly, a little note of childish wonder creeping into his voice.

“Just like a superhero,” Gabe smiles. “It’ll be very strong. You’ll be able to do all kinds of things you couldn’t do before.”

“Like, maybe…take a fella’s gun away and bend it up, like Superman?” Jesse says, brightening somewhat.

Gabe laughs. “I think that’ll depend on how fast you are. But maybe.”

“I always wanted a superpower,” Jesse says. His voice wavers. “Only I—I didn’t expect I’d have to give an arm for it.”

“Jesse, I am so sorry. This is my fault.”

“But boss…you don’t think that for real, do you? I mean, I signed them papers sayin’ I understood the risks of the job.”

“Yes, but we didn’t really give you much of a choice.”

“I got as much choice as was comin’ to me,” Jesse says staunchly. “You think I’da been better off stayin’ with them Deadlocks? I woulda wound up in a ditch somewhere if you hadn’t took me on like you did. But now I’m one of the good guys and I’m helpin’ people and doin’ what’s right. And it’s all on account of you. You saved me, boss.”

This earnest speech from the injured child in his arms is too much for Gabe. He turns his head to conceal his tears.

“I almost got you killed, Jesse,” he says rather gruffly. “It was selfish and reckless and now you’re paying the price. I’ve been putting your life at risk taking you on these dangerous assignments just because I—” he stops abruptly.

“Because…what?”

“Nothing.”

“Nah, you ain’t gettin’ off that easy, jefe,” Jesse says, tilting his head to look up at Gabe. “I think you was about to admit you like havin’ me around.”

“I was not. I was just going to say that…I don’t have any better agents than you.”

“Nope,” Jesse says. A boyish grin lights up his big, amber-brown eyes. “You actually like me! I’m your friend now, boss, admit it!”

“You’re a pain in my fucking ass, is what,” Gabe grumbles.

“Too late. It’s all out now,” Jesse replies chirpily. “All’s I had to do was just lose an arm ‘cause of your gross negligence, and—”

“Oh, yeah? Gross negligence, huh?” Gabe interrupts, raising an eyebrow. “Where’d you learn words like that, you little demon?”

“In them papers I signed. I remember most everything I read when I’m payin’ attention.”

“Then why didn’t you learn anything in school?”

“I wasn’t payin’ attention,” Jesse grins. “But boss…I really gotta piss now. I might lose control of my bladder and—”

“Ok, ok,” Gabe says. “Don’t fuckin’ describe it to me. Can you stay sitting up on your own?”

“Maybe,” Jesse says apprehensively. “Don’t drop me or nothin’, though.”

Gabe gets up carefully, holding Jesse steady till he’s sure the boy won’t fall. Then he crosses to a curtained alcove and carries back what looks like a large brass urn.

“Uh, boss,” Jesse says. “I don’t think pissin’ in their vases is quite the way to thank them monks for their hospitality.”

“This is a chamber pot, Jesse. There is no running water here. Hence, there are no toilets here.”

Jesse gives a cry of pain as Gabe lifts him to his feet. He is far too weak and battered to stand on his own, so Gabe holds him up, turning discreetly away as the boy relieves himself. Then he lowers Jesse back onto his sleeping mat, panting and trembling with the small exertion.

“I think—I think that’s about all I’m good for tonight,” Jesse says, attempting to catch his breath. He winces and lays his hand gingerly on his bruised ribcage. “Jesus, it hurts like ten devils just breathin’.”

Gabe deposits the urn outside and returns with the teapot and washbasin, and a small towel. He pours warm water into the basin and washes and dries their hands. Jesse is nodding again, so Gabe tucks the blankets in around him and lies down on his own sleeping mat. He isn’t tired, but he is accustomed to the quiet solitude at night, when most other people are sleeping. That is when he has time to let his mind wander freely. To escape to his world of memory in which he and Jack are happily married, lying together in their big, soft bed, surrounded by purring cats in the warmth of their mutual love. His world is solitary, cold, and ugly now.

He reaches his hand inside the collar of his black t-shirt and finds the smooth, heavy band of solid platinum on its chain about his neck. He clasps it tightly in his fist.

_With this ring, I thee wed._

He can see Jack’s radiant face smiling up at him on their wedding day, as Gabe slides this very ring onto his finger. When they separated to lead their units in the Crisis, they had agreed to take each other’s wedding rings and to give them back when they were reunited. A kind of symbolic re-commitment after the long separation they would endure. He left his on Jack’s night table as he stole away early that morning. He doesn’t know now, what became of it. When they saw each other again, Jack was not his husband.

Jack’s parents had left the Morrison family home to both children, but Jack had insisted Molly and Joe take it and will it to Phineas. It was there that Jack’s family had ended. Reduced to a statistic by the wave of mindless metal locust that washed over everything precious and beloved in the world and crushed it into the dust. It was at this moment that Jack had ceased to exist. Outwardly, he had remained unchanged. But when they were brought together again to form the covert group that would become Overwatch, the man who wore that dear face was no longer Jack. He was Commander Morrison. The perfect soldier. He had become the false identity the SOG had constructed for him. Jack was buried somewhere inside himself, deep down, too far for Gabe to reach him.

Still, there are moments of hope. Fleeting glimpses of Jack that sustain and comfort Gabe. Allow him to believe that one day and he’ll see that fire kindle in those brilliant blue eyes once more. Then he will know that Jack has returned to him. A soft, plaintive moan from Jesse recalls him. He can see the boy shivering and stirring restlessly under the blankets.

“Hey, mijo, are you alright?” he says, gently stroking Jesse's rich, dark brown hair.

“I think…I’m fixin’ to die, boss,” Jesse says feebly. “I’m…so cold.”

“You’re not going to die, Jesse. Not while I can help it. You feel cold because it’s freezing here, that’s all.”

Gabe slides under the blankets and lies on his side behind Jesse. He pulls him close, taking care not to disturb the bandaged arm, then closes his eyes and concentrates. After a moment or two, his body temperature begins to rise steadily, till it fills the space under the blankets with intense, soothing heat. Jesse sighs tremulously and Gabe feels him relax and stop shivering. Soon, he is breathing deep, regular breaths and is sound asleep.

Just after sunrise, Gabe wakes Jesse and helps him relieve his bladder again. Jesse endures the ordeal bravely, but he is drawn and white, and Gabe worries that the stress from the pain will worsen his condition. Soon after, Zenyatta arrives with tea and food for Gabe and fresh broth for Jesse. As Jesse sits propped up against the wall sipping at it, Gabe takes Zenyatta aside and mentions his concern about his pain.

“Master Mondatta can assist your friend,” Zenyatta says. “I will ask him to visit you after he has completed his morning meditation.”

“Thank you, Zenyatta,” Gabe says, bowing as the robot floats away.

He’s not sure what exactly Master Mondatta can do to help Jesse’s pain, but they must have done something to relieve it while they dressed his wounds, or the shock would have killed him then. Within an hour, Gabe hears the melodic hum of the Master approaching. Zenyatta opens the door for Mondatta and follows him inside.

“Greetings, my young friend,” Mondatta says to Jesse. “Brother Zenyatta tells me that you are troubled by pain from your injuries.”

“Yes, sir,” Jesse says. “I feel like I been kicked by a whole pack of mules, sir.”

“Then your pain must be very great,” Mondatta says, with that smile in his voice. “For mules are renowned kickers. If you will allow me, I will do what I can to relieve your suffering, my friend.”

Jesse glances uneasily at Gabe, who nods reassuringly. “I reckon it can’t hurt, sir.”

“Very well,” Mondatta says. “Attempt to clear your mind of troubled thoughts. Take slow, deep breaths, in…and out, as so, and count them as you do.”

Jesse begins his breathing as Mondatta has directed. “One… Two… Three…”

“Open your mind,” Mondatta says. “Feel yourself at one with the universe.”

“Four…Five…”

To Gabe and Jesse’s astonishment, Mondatta’s body suddenly appears to be emitting light. A brilliant, golden aura originates at his center and radiates outward till it encompasses the entire room.

“Gaze into the Iris,” he says, lifting his hands in a posture of meditation.

Jesse’s pain melts away in the warm, healing glow as he stares up at the Omnic in rapt wonder. After several minutes, the light fades softly away. Mondatta presses his hands together before his chest and bows.

“How do you feel, my friend?” he asks Jesse.

“I—I’m much better, now, sir,” Jesse stammers. “What was that?”

“You have experienced the restorative energy that is part of the Iris,” Mondatta replies.

“What’s the, uh—the Iris, sir?”

“The universe is permeated with energy, both light and dark. Together they form the balance of existence. Those of us who meditate upon it with open minds can learn to focus this energy and allow it to work through us. This is what we call the Iris.”

“The Iris,” Jesse repeats musingly. “Bet it’s pretty handy in a pinch, ain’t it?”

“It is very handy, indeed. The world is filled with suffering. The power of the light energy to heal hurts of the body is too often needed.”

“What about the dark energy?” Gabe says. “What is that?”

“The dark energy is the destructive force. We do not channel it unless at dire necessity and even then, only in defense of others.”

“Why is that?”

“It feeds upon fear and hatred, and can cause much suffering if used without care,” Mondatta says, tilting his head curiously. “Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering. Fear is the path to the dark side.”

Gabe blinks. “That’s—that’s from Star Wars.”

He stares open-mouthed at the metallic face of the Omnic as it makes a sound that can only be described as laughter. It _is_ laughter. The thing has made a joke. Jesse laughs merrily and Gabe looks to Zenyatta in disbelief.

“Master Mondatta,” Zenyatta says, with a slight bow, “is a prodigious fan of the Star Wars films.”

“Indeed,” Mondatta says serenely. “An excellent series of films. And a delightful depiction of organic and mechanical beings demonstrating friendship and love for one another.”

“You like Star Wars, huh?” Gabe smirks. “I thought you monks were all about austerity and staying away from worldly things.”

“When taken mindfully and in moderation, life’s innocent pleasures can be a balm to the soul,” Mondatta replies. “Will you accompany me for a short walk, Gabriel Reyes? There is a matter of which I would like to speak with you.”

“Of course,” Gabe says, getting up to follow him out. “Jesse, don’t get ahead of yourself now you’re feeling better. Stay put, you hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” Jesse says cheerfully.

As they exit the room, Gabe hears him taking animatedly to Zenyatta about a character in the films who loses a hand and has it replaced by a cybernetic prosthesis. It strikes him at last that the Master’s seemingly odd joke had been skillfully chosen to give comfort to the boy. He smiles. Jesse will be ok.

 

 


	62. The Ring

Gabe stands with Zenyatta and Mondatta, who, along with many of the other Shambali monks, are floating silently in a loose formation at the entrance to the main courtyard of the monastery, waiting to receive the Commander of the Overwatch organization and his retinue. A wave of unwonted apprehension washes over Zenyatta as he watches the battle fleet shimmer into view, the brilliant sunlight glinting and gleaming off their armored hulls as they sail through the blue sky above the pristine mountain peaks.

These are men and women of a martial profession. They will have weapons. There may be distrust and tension. They may even arrest the Master. He recalls his mantra and repeats it silently until he is at peace again. Even if they should destroy all that Master Mondatta has worked to build, such is the way of things that exist in this world. As the Buddha said, “Whatever has the nature of arising has the nature of ceasing.”

The TAAVs touch down gracefully on the hard-packed snow before the monastery gates, aided by their antigrav engines. The monks watch serenely as their blue-uniformed guests disembark and approach the courtyard. The one called Strike-Commander Morrison is at the head of the group. Zenyatta finds his face more pleasant in person. In the news broadcasts and public addresses, the man looks stern and severe, and somewhat proud. But as he greets Master Mondatta, bowing properly and giving the Anjali Mudra, he wears an expression genuine of gratitude, touched with deep concern for his friends. His open, self-effacing manner is instantly reassuring to his Omnic hosts, and Zenyatta thinks that perhaps he could grow to like this Commander Morrison.

“You must be Tekhartha Zenyatta,” the man says, smiling broadly and shaking his hand. “I hear you were responsible for leading your people to the crash site. I can’t thank you enough for rescuing my agents, Zenyatta.”

“No thanks are required, Commander Morrison,” Zenyatta replies with a bow. “I am honored to have assisted your friends in their need.”

“Well, all of Overwatch is sincerely grateful to you,” the Commander says. “As well as myself, personally. Commander Reyes is a dear friend of mine, and his loss would have been a heavy blow.”

“They can’t run the place without me,” Reyes says, stepping forward. “Isn’t that right, Jack?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Commander Morrison says, smiling up at him.

The two men embrace heartily, slapping each other’s backs after the fashion of comrades in arms, but Zenyatta immediately detects something more tender and close in this connection than perhaps the two would have others know. As such, he puts it from his mind and returns his attention to the matter at hand.

“We will take you to your injured friend straightaway,” Mondatta says. “But I must first ask that you and your people remove your weapons, for we do not allow such things to be carried into the monastery.”

“We have brought no weapons, Master,” Commander Morrison replies, dipping his head respectfully. “We have come as friends, in faith that you are men of your word and intend us no harm.”

Mondatta bows low, in appreciation of the gesture. “Then we welcome you to the Shambali Monastery, Commander Morrison. Your people will find refreshment in the main gathering hall, should they desire it. Shall we go and attend to Jesse?”

Commander Morrison orders his staff to go with the monks to the main hall, then he and Gabe follow Zenyatta and Mondatta to the little lodging room where Jesse is waiting. Zenyatta opens the door and allows the other three to enter, then closes it behind them to keep out the icy wind. As his eyes adjust to the orange glow of the oil lamps, Jack sees Jesse, wrapped up in brightly colored wool blankets, reclining on a pile of cushions with his hat over his face. He puts his finger over his mouth to hush the others and quietly approaches the sleeping boy. He stands looking down at him for a moment.

“Agent McCree!” he booms, in his sternest command-voice. “You sleeping on duty?”

Jesse sits up with a jolt, panting and disoriented. His hat tumbles off his face and goes rolling across the floor directly into the toe of Jack’s boot. Then he blinks around at the laughing faces of his two Commanders and his Omnic hosts. His discombobulated expression gives way to a broad grin.

“You can’t blame a fella for wantin’ some shuteye when he’s all banged up like I am, sirs,” he says to Jack and Gabe, who are still chuckling. “Specially since the Commander here damn near killed me with his devil-may-care flyin’ in that storm.”

Jack bends down and picks up the hat, replacing it on the top of Jesse’s head with a cheerful smile. “How are you feeling, son?”

“Not as well as I’d like, sir,” Jesse replies, his expression falling somewhat. “I got pretty fairly knocked around. You can’t see it ‘cause I’m trussed up like a papoose in these blankets, but I’m an arm short.”

“I’m sorry, Jesse,” Jack says. He kneels beside the boy and lays a hand on his right shoulder, looking anxiously into his pale, bruised face. “We’ll see to it you get the best treatment we can provide. Are you in much pain?”

“I ain’t hurtin’ so much now, sir,” Jesse says awkwardly. He feels his cheeks flushing with embarrassment under the Strike-Commander’s close scrutiny, and lowers his eyes. “Master Mondatta done some kinda magic spell and eased the pain off mighty nice.”

Jack looks up questioningly at Gabe.

“He’s referring to the healing energy Master Mondatta used to help him yesterday,” Gabe says. He turns to Mondatta. “Master, Commander Morrison is unfamiliar with your healing technique, and I am at a loss to explain it, myself. Would you mind telling him what you told us?”

“Some among the Shambali,” Mondatta says to Jack, “through years of meditation and practice, have developed the ability to concentrate generative energy and release it in order to aid others within close proximity to our bodies. It takes on a visible form as a ring of bright light. We call this the Iris.”

“That’s…a remarkable ability,” Jack says. “How did you discover it?”

“It will take some time to explain fully, Commander Morrison. Perhaps you and our friend Gabriel Reyes would like to join me in my quarters, where we may speak at more length?”

“We’d be happy to, Master,” Jack says, standing up to go with Mondatta. “Jesse, will you be alright for a while on your own?”

“I’m fine, sir,” Jesse grumbles, keeping his eyes on the floor. “Only I wish I wasn’t gettin’ left out of all the interesting talk all the time. I ain’t a child, y’know.”

“We’ll brief you fully when we come back, Agent McCree,” Jack laughs. “I guess that crash didn’t knock the sass out of him, did it Gabe?”

“It did not,” Gabe says. “He’s been making up for not being able to move his body by running his mouth constantly.”

“I’ll knock the sass outta somethin’,” Jesse mutters under his breath.

Gabe raises a warning eyebrow and opens his mouth to respond, but Zenyatta cuts in smoothly.

“I will remain with you, my friend,” he says placidly to Jesse. “Two together may pass the time in more cheer than one alone. You will tell me more of this Duke of Hazzard, perhaps.”

“It’s ‘Dukes,’ plural, Zenny,” Jesse is saying, as Jack and Gabe depart with Mondatta. “Bo and Luke Duke. They was brothers, see, and the sheriffs was always gettin’ after ‘em…”

 

Gabe sits quietly, listening and watching for Jack’s reactions as Mondatta details his philosophy and his ideas for spreading human-Omnic peace to the Strike-Commander. He speaks openly regarding his people’s dealings with smugglers and other criminal elements in their efforts to liberate Omnics from oppressive situations, and the dangers and losses they have endured in doing so. Jack’s face is unreadable, but he listens attentively and asks questions here and there. Then Mondatta leaves Jack and Gabe alone to confer with one another. Nearly an hour passes before they are through, but at the end of that time, an agreement to be formalized between Overwatch and the Shambali has been tentatively constructed. Mondatta returns, and Jack lays out his plan.

“Master Mondatta,” he says. “The Overwatch organization is in debt to you for saving the lives of Commander Reyes and Agent McCree, but that isn’t why I want to help you. I’ve listened to what you have to say, and I believe that it’s something the world needs to hear. Our job is to protect and foster peace all over the world, but I believe there are more ways than one to accomplish this. We work to preserve peace by armed strength, through deterrence and defense. If you and the Shambali can work to change people’s minds, and to sow the seeds of goodwill and harmony between humans and Omnics, then maybe one day we won’t need to use military means to keep the world safe.”

Mondatta bows, and Jack continues, “I want to offer you several things. First, I will agree to help you present your case to the United Nations. With my testimony and that of Commander Reyes, you have a much better chance at reaching an accord with them.”

Mondatta dips his head in agreement.

“Second, I will personally request amnesty for any Omnic liberated by your people, and see that no prosecution is pursued for your illegal actions on their behalf. I believe what you have done was compassionate and right-minded, though it technically violated some outdated laws of international trade.”

Mondatta assents to this as well.

“Third, I think that the monastery would better serve your purposes if it were accessible by ground, so that humans and Omnics can come here to learn about your philosophies firsthand. I will address the UN regarding opening up safe routes for travel to the monastery. Until then, Overwatch will guarantee safe passage for you and your monks between here and our headquarters, from which you can visit other countries as you choose, and spread your message of peace. Is all of this agreeable to you?”

The Omnic sits silent and impassive for a long moment. When he speaks again, Gabe would almost swear his modulated voice is choked with emotion.

“One does not often find such benevolence in this world, Commander Morrison,” he says. “This is a great kindness that places myself and my people deeply in your debt.”

“We are as invested in peace as you are, Master Mondatta,” Jack replies. He smiles and says, “When watching after yourself, you watch after others. When watching after others, you watch after yourself.”

“Ah, I see I have been speaking with one learned in the words of the Buddha,” Mondatta, says laughing delightedly.

“Only a few things I’ve picked up here and there,” Jack says. “The philosophy always appealed to me, though. Maybe I’ll learn more of it from you.”

“It would be my honor. How shall we proceed now, Commander?”

“We’ve got to get our injured man home as soon as possible,” Jack says, “I’d like a few days to arrange meetings and prepare the way with the UN, and I’m sure you’ll need time to talk this over with your people. We’ll send a transport back, say, a week from today. Will that be satisfactory?”

“That will be most satisfactory,” Mondatta says, rising from his cushion. Gabe and Jack rise as well. He bows low and touches his forehead. “Thank you, Commander Morrison. Commander Reyes.”

Jack and Gabe follow him out to the courtyard, where the three bid a warm farewell and part to attend to their separate duties. Jack radios to the team that they are ready to transport Agent McCree, and they head back toward the lodging.

“We still need to deal with the fact that your TAAV was shot down,” Jack says. “But we can discuss that when we’re back at HQ. It isn’t going to be pleasant.”

They continue in silence for a moment.

“Pretty impressive, bringing out that Buddhist quotation,” Gabe says, casting a sidelong glance at Jack. “You always were the diplomat, weren’t you.”

“That’s why they gave me the job, Gabe,” Jack says, keeping his eyes straight ahead. “I know how to talk to people.”

“They gave it to you because you’re a nice, blonde, all-American farm boy who won’t scare the white people.”

“And you’re a surly, foul-mouthed, Latin-American asshole who scares white people on purpose to amuse himself.”

Gabe laughs aloud and claps Jack on the shoulder. “I missed you, too, Jack.”

Jack looks up at Gabe as they walk along. Here in broad daylight, in the man’s actual presence, he isn’t nearly so certain that there really is something more between them as he’d been the other night, when he’d had that epiphany. He knows with is whole heart that he is in love with Gabe, but he can’t see any sign to indicate what is passing in Gabe’s mind. Gabe looks down at him and Jack turns away quickly.

“What?” Gabe says.

“What, what?”

“You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“Like you want to say something.”

“I do not. Do I?”

“I know all your looks, Jack. So what is it?”

“I just…I wanted to say…I’m glad you’re ok, is all.”

Gabe stops and arrests Jack, taking him by his shoulders and turning him around to face him. He looks keenly into Jack’s face with his fierce, dark brown eyes.

“That’s all you wanted to say, Jack? After we were shot down and you thought I was dead?”

“Yes, I—I think so,” Jack says uneasily. Gabe’s abrupt forcefulness of manner has startled him and thrown him off his train of thought. “What else should I say?”

Gabe searches his face for another second or two, then lets go of his shoulders.

“Nothing,” he says. He turns on his heel and continues walking. “Nothing at all.”

Jack remains standing there for a moment before he follows him. He is utterly bewildered now. Why is Gabe so angry with him all the sudden? He can’t make heads or tails of this man he calls his best friend. Sometimes he’s gentle and affectionate. Sometimes he’s jocular and companionable. Sometimes he wants to fuck all night like a wild animal (Jack is rather partial to this mood). Sometimes he’s angry and hard and cruel (Jack detests this mood, which usually occurs after their marathon fucks).

This can’t be the way things have always been between them. He knows this can’t be the way it has always been. If it were, they wouldn’t still be friends. But when he tries to focus his memory on their years of friendship, his mind returns a chaotic bombardment of disjointed, conflicting nonsense that destroys his ability to think clearly and threatens to consume his mind. He finds this frightening and intensely painful, and draws back before it can get out of control.

There is one image, out of all the indistinct blur of things he can’t fully grasp, that remains clearly in his mind this time. It makes no sense to him, but he ponders it, wondering what it could mean as they make the long flight back to Switzerland. It is the image of Gabe standing in a room Jack doesn’t recognize. He is several years younger and his face is clean-shaven. He is wearing an officer’s dress uniform. Beside him is a pretty, brunette woman holding a hefty, black-haired infant.

Was Gabe married? Maybe this had been Gabe’s wife and child. No, that can’t be the case. Gabe has never spoken of any such thing to Jack. Besides, he is openly homosexual. But Jack does recall catching a glimpse of a ring on a chain around Gabe’s neck once, when he stopped by Gabe’s quarters one night to drop off a report. He was wearing his black bathrobe and the neck had fallen open a bit as he sat down to read the document. He drew it closed quickly, and neither of them had mentioned the ring afterward.

He glances over at Gabe. He’s sitting with Jesse, who is strapped into a gurney on the other side of the cabin. They are talking quietly together and smiling. Gabe laughs and playfully ruffles the boy’s hair. A deep, icy pang of loneliness stabs through Jack’s gut. He can see something is happening between them. Something he can hardly admit to himself. But it’s perfectly natural that they would be attracted to each other. Jesse is a strikingly good-looking young man (far too young for Gabe, in Jack’s opinion), and Gabe is handsome and tall and broad-shouldered, and his scars give him a rugged, warlike appearance that a younger man couldn’t help but find appealing.

They work closely together every day, too. And they are so much alike. They share so many common interests and habits. Jack and Gabe are nothing alike. Gabe likes to drink with the men and engage in banter with them on the smoking patios. Jack is overwhelmed easily in social situations, and he dislikes military men and their rough talk, so he avoids these common gathering areas. He doesn’t smoke anyway. Gabe and Jesse do. Gabe’s smoking doesn’t bother Jack, but he wishes he wouldn’t do it in his office so much. People talk about it.

He sighs and leans back in his seat. Maybe if he and Gabe stop having sex, they can simply be friends without all this tension and misunderstanding. Then Gabe will feel free to pursue whatever is happening between him and his young protégé. Jesse is of age, after all, and there are no rules against it, as long as Gabe follows the correct procedure for reporting romantic relationships. Maybe this wild, beautiful teenager is the person who will make Gabe happy. Maybe he will fall in love with Jesse and not be so hard and cruel to Jack anymore.

He tries to make himself content with this idea, but the cold, lonely ache gnaws painfully at his insides. He feels certain that he has finally realized he loves Gabe, only to discover that Gabe loves someone else, and it is too late. When he lies down alone in his bed that night, Jack weeps for the first time since he can remember. A long, bitter, unrestrained deluge of tears that soaks his pillow and makes his head throb and ache, till at last he wears himself out and falls asleep.

 


	63. Jealousy

“Excellent. Now the thumb and forefinger. Very good,” Dr. Ziegler smiles one of her dazzling, lovely smiles. “You seem to be acclimating very well to the prosthesis. How is the sensation in your fingers?”

“Well, ma’am,” Jesse says, “it ain’t just exactly like my old hand, y’know? I can pick up little things and all, but I can’t feel ‘em if they’re too little.”

“What size object would you say is the smallest you can detect?”

“I can pick up a penny no problem, but nothin’ skinnier.”

“That is likely the greatest sensitivity you will have with this model. But, when your biomatched model is ready and we get it calibrated, you should be able to easily manipulate objects the width of a human hair.”

“That a fact?” Jesse says, clenching and unclenching the fingers on his prosthetic hand. “I can’t figure what I’d want with a hair, but if I ever find myself in a position to pick one up, I reckon I’ll be glad I can.”

“I hope you will,” the doctor laughs. “Fortunately for you, biotechnology has grown by leaps and bounds in the past decade. Ten years ago, even a metal prosthetic like the one you are wearing now would not have been possible. How have you been feeling otherwise?”

“I’m on the mend, far as I can tell,” Jesse says. “My ribs is hurtin’ a little less and the bruises been goin’ away.”

“What about mentally? How has your mood been?”

“Y'know, I been feelin’ kinda low and like…restless, lately. And sometimes my stomach is all tangled up in knots so’s I can’t sleep at night. I don’t reckon there’s much you can do about that, though, seein’ as it’s more of a head kinda sick.”

“Anxiety and depression following the traumatic loss of a limb are very common. When did this begin?”

“Well, it did start up around the time we got back from Nepal,” Jesse says. “But I ain’t sure it’s that, though. I woulda took on pretty bad if I was gonna be crippled by it, but my new arm’s helpin’ a lot.”

“What do you think it is?”

He hesitates, weighing whether or not he should bare this much of his soul to the doctor. She has always told him he could talk to her about anything, and she has listened compassionately to him on many occasions as he has poured out his troubles to her. He decides, however, that it’s better to keep this particular affliction to himself. Who knows what the consequences might be if anyone were to find out.

“I reckon…I reckon it’s probably what you said, now I think of it,” he says lamely. “Depression about losin the arm and whatnot.”

“It is important that we care for your mind as well as your body after such a trauma,” she says, smiling reassuringly. “We have an excellent staff of counselors who specialize in such things. I will write you a referral.”

“I don’t know, ma’am…” he says doubtfully. “I ain’t ever been to one of them head-shrinkers.”

“It is nothing to be ashamed of, Jesse. Most of our people who see heavy combat or experience serious injuries find it very helpful to speak with a professional about those things.”

“Well…if you think it’d help, I suppose I could give it a whack.”

She sits down to write the note, and Jesse wiggles his metallic fingers some more, watching the overhead light glint off the silver-toned joints and gears.

“Ma’am,” he says, after a moment. “Commander Reyes…he didn’t seem like he got hurt at all in that crash. I mean, he was up and goin’ just like normal ‘fore I even woke up.”

“It is unlikely that he was not injured,” she says, handing Jesse the note. “But his body has the capacity to heal itself far more rapidly than yours does. It is quite possible that whatever injuries he sustained were repaired by the time you regained consciousness.”

“One of the perks of bein’ a super soldier I guess,” Jesse grins. “They musta made ‘em pretty sturdy.”

“Tolerably sturdy, yes,” she laughs. “But none of the other SEP soldiers were quite like Gabriel. He is far superior to them.”

“Superior? Like how?” Jesse asks eagerly.

“No, no,” she says. “I cannot tell you anything else without violating medical confidentiality. If you are curious, though, you should ask him about it.”

“I suppose I could, only he’d probably tell me to shut up and mind my business.” He holds up his prosthetic to examine it again. “Y’know, I always wondered what it’d be like to have special powers like them SEP fellas. But I guess I kinda do now, what with my robot arm.”

“Jesse, your prosthesis is not what makes you special,” Dr. Ziegler says, looking up at him tenderly and laying a hand on his cheek. “You are already very special.”

“I…I am?” Jesse breathes. He gazes down into the doctor’s sweet, angelic face. A face that reminds him so much of his mother’s, that he finds himself fighting a sudden urge to run into her arms and weep, and to have her comfort him and tell him everything will be alright.

“Yes, you are,” she says. “You don’t know how important you are, Jesse.” Then she seems to shake herself and her usual brisk, cheerful manner returns. “But I have kept you long enough. The Commander must be expecting you back. Run along, now, and let me know if you have any trouble with your prosthesis.”

“I will,” he says, reluctantly moving away toward the door. “I—uh…thank you ma’am.”

 

When he arrives at Commander Reyes’ office, Jesse is puzzled to find Commander Morrison sitting with Commander Reyes inside. The Strike-Commander rarely comes to the boss’s office way down here. He turns to go and wait on the bench in the hall, but Gabe sees him through the open door and motions for him to come in.

“Jesse,” he says. “I’m glad you’re here. Jack and I were just talking about you.”

“Me, sirs?” Jesse says apprehensively, taking a seat in the chair beside Commander Morrison's. “I ain’t in trouble or nothin’, am I?”

“No, nothing like that,” Gabe says. “Listen, I have to go to Paris to meet with our man there. He’s been investigating that group we think shot us down in Nepal for quite some time, and I need to find out everything he knows.”

“Paris, boss?” Jesse says. “I ain’t goin’ with you?”

“I’m sorry, Jesse, but Angela doesn’t think it’s safe to clear you for off-post travel yet, and I’m inclined to agree,” Gabe says. “I’ll only be gone a couple of days. A week at the most. In the mean time, I’ve got an assignment for you.” He indicates to Jack. “Commander Morrison has agreed to let you shadow him while I’m away and teach you a little bit about how things work on the top side. You didn’t go through the formal training most of the agents get, so I think it’ll be a good opportunity for you to learn about how the other half of the organization functions.”

“What do you think, Jesse?” Jack says. “You want to come work with me for a few days?”

“Sure, Commander,” Jesse says, fiddling with a metal plate on his prosthetic arm. “That sounds very, uh…educational.”

Jack can see that the boy is disappointed not to be going to Paris with Gabe, and probably pretty unhappy about being left in the charge of a man who hasn’t gone out of his way to be especially kind to him.

“Look, Jesse,” he says. “I know things didn’t begin well between us, but I promise I’m not so terrible as I seem.”

“I don’t think you’re terrible, sir,” Jesse mumbles, still fidgeting with his prosthetic. Then he looks up suddenly and glances anxiously back and forth between the two Commanders. “I don’t gotta wear one of them blue uniforms, do I? I had some a while back but they don’t fit me now.”

Jack and Gabe laugh merrily at his tremendous concern about his wardrobe. Gabe doesn’t doubt he’s grown out of his initial clothing issue. He has gained almost three inches in height and thickened up considerably since he’s been with them. The once lanky, scrappy kid looks more like a solid, well-built man every day.

“Your usual kit will be fine,” Gabe says. “There’s no time to fit you for a new uniform anyway. I’m leaving tonight, so you’ll be reporting to Jack tomorrow morning. Unless you have any more questions, you can take the rest of today off.”

“No, sir,” Jesse says, attempting to conceal his absolute misery at the situation. “I don’t think I got any questions just now. Except, uh, what time, sir?”

“0700,” Jack says. “Don’t be late.” He smiles affably, but he’s quickly growing irritated at Jesse’s refusal to even look him in the eye. He hopes the boy will conduct himself more courteously when other people are around to observe them.

“Yes, sir. 0700. I won’t be late, sir,” Jesse says solemnly. Then he retreats from Gabe’s office as quickly as he can without appearing to be actually running away.

“What was that about?” Gabe laughs, after Jesse has vanished down the hall. “The kid is fucking terrified of you, Jack.”

Jack thinks about this for a moment. He hadn’t considered that Jesse’s behavior may have been motivated by any fear of him.

“Maybe,” he grins. “I’m pretty scary, you know.” He pauses, and then says more seriously, “But listen, Gabe, you know I didn’t want to take him on and that I haven’t exactly been fond of him since. But I am trying to give him a chance for your sake. I hope you understand that.”

“For my sake?” Gabe says, perplexed. “That’s very…weird of you, Jack. What do you mean for my sake?”

“I’m not weird, Gabe, I am trying to do the best I can here,” Jack says, suddenly agitated and defensive. “Don’t make this harder for me than it is, alright? I don’t need shit from you about every little thing I do with regard to Jesse.”

“Make what harder for you? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” Jack says, rising abruptly. “I just…I have to go. Good luck in Paris.”

With that, Jack turns and walks briskly out of Gabe’s office, leaving Gabe staring dumbly after him, struggling to comprehend what has just happened. Jack is upset about something. Not irritated over some professional disagreement, but actually hurt. This is entirely new. It gradually occurs to him that Jack is jealous. He smiles to himself at the idea of Jack being jealous of his relationship with his teenaged subordinate. But at the same time, he feels a little thrill of hope. For a brief moment, he had almost felt as if he’d been talking to his husband again.

 

Jesse’s anxiety over the coming ordeal robs him of any rest he had hoped to get before what promises to be an agonizing day. When he arrives at the Strike-Commander’s office at 0655, he is a ball of exhausted nerves. Jack arrives a few minutes later, fresh and vibrant, and offensively cheerful. Jesse is utterly overwhelmed by Jack’s relentless energy and restricts himself to respectful, monosyllabic responses to the barrage of information with which the man peppers him.

Jack, on the other hand, reads Jesse’s manner as sullen and intractable, and believes it to be motivated by personal dislike for himself. Things progress tediously, and Jack begins to think this has been a mistake. The boy simply will not engage with him on any issue. He is the Commander of a massively powerful, globally recognized military force. He has a seat at the United Nations. He meets with generals, ambassadors, and heads of state. He has never allowed an agent to accompany him like this and be made privy to the daily goings-on at the top of the world’s power structure. Jesse’s apparent indifference to the value of the experience exasperates him.

He studies the boy surreptitiously. He’s bent over a document, his face obscured by locks of unruly, chestnut-colored hair (which he wears far too long). He flips it out of his face with an insouciant toss of his head and continues to scan the paper. The graceful, careless ease of this gesture—of his entire posture—annoys Jack immensely. He knows why. He is a stiff, formal, socially awkward man who has never had a hair out of place in his life (save for a little bit on the back that he cannot convince to lie down by any method known to man or science). Gabe is attracted to Jesse and Jack is his exact opposite.

When he dismisses Jesse for the day, he feels fatigued in a way he hasn’t felt since…he can’t remember when. He leans back in his chair and massages his brow with his fingertips. This is going to be a long week.

 

Jesse returns to his room, tosses his hat on his desk, and falls face down into his bed. He sighs deeply and rolls over, gazing at the ceiling. He wonders if it’s possible to die from wanting someone so bad. It sure feels possible. He closes his eyes and thinks of that face. That tall, muscular body. He pulls off his shirt and tosses it on the floor. He wants desperately to feel his naked skin against that skin. To taste that mouth on his. He slides his hand down his taut, flat abdomen. He imagines those strong hands touching and caressing him.

He undoes the fly of his pants and eases his swollen, aching cock out of his underwear. He looks down at it, imagining himself stroking their cocks together, watching them come at the same time. He spits in his hand and fucks it feverishly, pushing up with his hips and contracting his abdominal muscles till he’s almost sitting up, wringing himself forcefully to climax with all the frustrated, intense sexual energy of a nineteen-year-old man who hasn’t had a good fuck in two years.

“Oh, fuck, fuck—ah!” he groans, gripping his cock tightly.

His cock throbs and twitches in his hand, spewing rapid bursts of warm fluid onto his stomach. He falls back onto his pillow, panting and lightheaded. He dozes for a few minutes, thinking dreamily about lying in bed with the man. Falling asleep together. He shudders and sighs. He wants to sleep now, but he hasn’t eaten since noon, and the Commander kept him till nearly 1900. He checks the time on his phone, then he climbs out of bed and grabs a towel to clean himself up before he heads down to the mess for dinner.

 

 

 


	64. The Swan

The third day of their common misery finds Jack too wearied with the strain to force himself to be stiff and polite any longer. As the morning progresses, he grows more inclined to be stern and snappish with Jesse. The boy’s response to this is to be more withdrawn and silent than ever, and to jump like a whipped dog when Jack addresses him. He is typing a short memo to the UN’s Office for Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs regarding a meeting to be held next week. Jack has given Jesse all the information he needs, along with a similar document to use as a guideline, and yet nearly an hour has passed and the task has not been completed.

“Jesse,” he says irritably. “What on earth can be taking you so long? That memo should have taken ten minutes to type up.”

Jesse looks up at the man in disbelief. The Commander can’t possibly, really be this cruel. “Sir…I’m sorry, but it ain’t so easy for me. Y’know…with my hand.”

He holds up his prosthetic and splays out the metal fingers. Jack’s face loses some of its color. He cannot comprehend how he has been so inexcusably callous. He had entirely forgotten Jesse’s arm. The task must have seemed to the boy to be devised specifically to torment him.

“Oh my god,” he says, laying his forehead in his palm. “Jesse, I am so sorry. I know you probably won’t believe me, but I just completely forgot about your…your prosthesis. I really meant that as a simple assignment you could do without a lot of trouble.”

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry about,” Jesse replies curtly. “Only it’s gonna take a while.”

“No, no, Lieutenant Beckett can finish it.”

“I’d like to do it myself, sir,” he says resolutely. “I gotta learn to do everything again. Typin’ ain’t no different.”

“Alright. Take your time, though.”

Jack’s unthinking oversight recalls him painfully to the fact that he is supposed to be attempting to improve his interaction with Jesse. He takes a deep breath and steels his resolve.

“I really am sorry, Jesse,” he says, attempting to sound compassionate and parental, as he has heard others do when talking to younger people. “This has been a lot to take in all at once, hasn’t it.”

Jesse is confused by the shift in the Commander’s tone. The man has been increasingly short-tempered and impatient all morning. He looks up to find those icy blue eyes fixed on him.

“Yes, sir,” he says, trying not to mumble. “It’s—it’s a whole mess of things to get my head around. But I’m tryin’ real hard, sir.”

“And I’ve been a real asshole about it, haven’t I.”

“Well…I ain’t about to contradict a superior officer,” Jesse replies sardonically.

“You know what? We could probably both use a break to clear our heads,” Jack says, setting down his pen. “Why don’t you let me take you lunch in the city?”

“That’s mighty kind of you, sir,” Jesse says, looking at the clock. It’s just before 1100. “But ain’t it a bit early for lunch just yet?”

“Well, that’s the advantage of being the boss,” Jack grins. “Lunch is whenever I say it is.”

Jesse smiles back nervously. He can’t help but feel he’s being led into some kind of trap. But, really, what can the Commander do? Kill him? He’s not sure he’d mind, at this point. And he has to eat sometime. He’d been too anxious to have breakfast again this morning, and he’s starting to feel lightheaded with hunger.

“Lunch sounds good, sir,” he says, closing the document he has been laboring over. “Thank you, sir.”

Jack informs Lieutenant Beckett that they will be going to lunch and asks her to call ahead to a restaurant with a French name that Jesse can’t pronounce. The Commander’s car is waiting downstairs at the main entrance to the Overwatch complex. He tells his driver where they intend to dine, and the vehicle speeds smoothly away, suspended a foot above the road by its antigrav engine.

When they pull up to the restaurant the Commander has chosen, Jesse knows he is entirely out of his reckoning. A battalion of beaming staff are waiting outside, dressed in crisp, white shirts with black vests and black trousers. A man in a suit (who Jesse takes to be the manager or something) greets Jack with a hearty handshake and a lot of very rapid French that makes Jesse’s head spin.

“Monsieur le Commandant,” he is saying to Jack, “I am so pleased to see you again. Anything I can do for you, you have only to ask. As we say in France, if it is merely difficult, it is already done. If it is impossible, it will take but a little time.”

“Thank you, Florian,” Jack says. He indicates to his companion. “This is Jesse. He is an agent of mine.”

Florian shakes Jesse’s hand with many protestations of delight to make his acquaintance, then he leads them through the kitchen to a little private room with only a few tables, and large windows overlooking the tranquil waters of Lake Geneva. Florian turns to Jack to inquire about wine, which Jack politely refuses, this being duty hours. He then produces menus, but Jack waves them away.

“Choix du chef,” he says, flashing his radiant smile.

This appears to please Florian to the end of his wits, and he goes away to do whatever it is he does, though Jesse can’t quite figure what that could be, since he’s not a waiter.

“What’d you say to him?” Jesse asks. “And why’d he take the menus?”

“I said ‘chef’s choice.’ We don’t need the menu, because we’re going to get what the person who wrote it thinks is the best thing on it.”

“That’s pretty fancy,” Jesse says, looking about him uncomfortably. He suddenly wishes he had some nicer clothes. “This is about the fanciest place I ever been allowed inside. I’m kinda surprised they didn’t tell me take a hike the minute they seen me.”

“Well, you’re with me,” Jack says. He states this as a plain fact, with no hint of self-importance, but Jesse cocks an eyebrow anyway.

“I know how famous y’are, Commander,” he smirks. “You don’t gotta try and impress me.”

“I’m not trying to impress you, Agent McCree,” Jack retorts. Then he grins self-consciously. “Are you impressed, though?”

The remarkable alteration in the Commander’s proud countenance produced by this boyish gesture gives Jesse pause. The man looks so different suddenly. So young and fresh and almost…sweet. Jesse looks right down the double-barrel of those big, bright-blue eyes and his stomach does a flip. Christ, he’s so beautiful. His hand trembles as he picks up his water glass to relieve his parched throat. Much to his chagrin, the Commander immediately notices.

“You’re shaking!” he exclaims. “Jesse, have you eaten at all today?”

“Well, no sir, I—” Jesse chokes out, sputtering as his mouthful of water goes down the incorrect passage and attempts to enter by way of his larynx.

The Commander laughs and says something about managing to drown on dry land within sight of Lake Geneva. Jesse wishes he could melt into the floor. Why is he so awkward and stupid? It’s like this man does something to his brain so his limbs don’t know what they’re about and his tongue won’t obey him. He blushes miserably and pulls his hat down low over his eyes.

“You really should take that hat off,” Jack admonishes gently. “This _is_ a fancy restaurant, you know.”

Jesse obediently pulls off the hat and sets it on the chair beside his, raking his fingers hastily through his unruly, dark-brown hair. “I don’t got hat-hair now do I?”

“Not at all,” Jack smiles. “And you’re much more handsome without it.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Jesse mumbles, flushing even deeper crimson. “I ain’t though.”

Jack, unable to read his companion’s reaction accurately, persists. “No, Jesse, you really are very good looking. You shouldn’t be embarrassed to accept a sincere compliment.”

“I—I uh…” Fortuitously for Jesse, Florian returns at that moment.

He serves them something he calls an “amuse-gueule,” which Jesse assumes must be the French term for a little pile of raw fish inside half a cherry tomato with some creamy stuff on top. The tiny bite is perfectly delicious, but Jesse begins to worry that all the food may follow these diminutive proportions. As nervous as he is in his Commander’s presence, his natural need for sustenance is making itself strongly felt.

“If all the food’s so little, I’m gonna need a whole mess of it, I think. I could eat a whole horse right now.” His face freezes and he looks at Jack fearfully. “They ain’t gonna feed us horse though, are they, sir?”

“Of course not!” Jack says. “Jesse, people in foreign countries aren’t really the way ignorant people back in the States think. They don’t eat horse here.”

“I ain’t ignorant, sir,” Jesse says with a touch of defensiveness in his tone. “Well, I mean I am. But it ain’t my fault, and I’m doin’ my best to learn about things. I want to know all about everything there is in the world.”

“That’s an excellent attitude,” Jack replies. He nods to the waiter, who is depositing the next course on the table. “But it didn’t seem like you were very interested in what I’ve been trying to teach you this week.”

“That ain’t my fault either,” Jesse says, swallowing a spoonful of the most delicious soup he’s ever tasted. “Jesus fuck this is good. What is this?”

“It’s lobster bisque.” Jack frowns. “What do you mean it’s not your fault?”

“It wadn’t my fault if I seemed not to care, cause I was real interested. I had no idea them people in Yemen was so hard up for water and I think it’s a damn shame the people who’s got a lot of it’s bein’ so stingy. I hope them folks in Humanitarian Affairs can talk to some sense into ‘em.”

Jack’s expression changes to one of pleased surprise as Jesse continues. The boy _had_ been paying attention.

“I didn’t get excited about it cause I…” He hesitates, but decides he’s gone this far and he may as well dive in. “…well, I been too anxious to sleep much, if you gotta know. I been dog-tired and my head’s been achin’ somethin’ fierce every day.”

“Why have you been too anxious to sleep?”

“Cause I know I gotta come work with you all day.”

Jack frowns again and crosses his arms, taken aback by the blunt declaration. “Listen, Jesse. I am trying to reach out to you, here. I haven’t been very kind to you, but I certainly haven’t been cruel. Not intentionally, at least.”

“I didn’t say nothin’ about cruel,” Jesse replies, keeping his eyes on his soup.

“But you act like you can’t stand the sight of me.”

Jesse stares sullenly at the table as the waiter clears the bowls and delivers the next course. He takes up his fork and pokes at the cube of seared meat on a bed of greens in the center of his plate.

“You think you got me all figured out,” he says slowly. “But you don’t. Commander Reyes wanted to give me a chance, but I know you didn’t. And I know you still don’t think I’m worth a damn. That cuts me awful deep, sir.”

“Why…why should it matter so much to you? What I think of you?”

Jesse pauses and takes a long, shaky breath, blinking back tears that being to sting his eyes and blur his vision.

“Cause all’s I ever wanted was to be like you,” he says. “You was my hero when I was a kid. My mama said you was a good man and if I just tried to be like you, I’d grow up to be a good man, too. But mama died and then I ain’t had no one. So I took up with them Deadlocks so’s I could stay alive. When Commander Reyes and his men come to do a sting and bust it all up, I didn’t rat ‘em out cause I knew they was the good guys and we was the bad guys. I just hoped I’d get killed too. I figured I had it comin’. When y’all put me in the interview room and you come in with my rap sheet, that was…maybe the lowest point of my life. Knowin’ you looked at me and didn’t see nothin’ but scum.”

“Jesse—”

“Naw, let me say my piece, since you asked. It hurt me bad, seein’ what you thought of me, cause you was the one man who I thought would…would see some good in me,” he says. Then he lifts his head proudly and looks the Commander in the eye. “I know I fucked up. But I’m tryin’ to set it right. I’m makin’ my amends the only way I know how. Nothin’ anyone can say’ll change that.”

Jack sits in stunned silence, staring at Jesse across the table. He sees, as suddenly and clearly as if a veil has been drawn away, what Gabe had seen in the boy all along. A wild, fierce, uneducated, but intelligent, honest, and thoroughly honorable young man. And a very tall and handsome one, at that.

“I was wrong, Jesse,” he says at last. “Very wrong. If you can…forgive me…I’d like to be someone who can call you a friend.”

Jesse gazes keenly back at him for a beat, then another. He holds out his hand across the table and Jack shakes it. Then he simply nods and says, “Alright, then.”

Jack blinks. “That’s it? Alright?”

“I reckon so,” Jesse says, through a mouthful of the filet-mignon he has already begun to eagerly devour. He grins wickedly. “Unless you want to tell me some more about how I was right and you was wrong and all that.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Jack laughs. “Your head’s already going to be two sizes too big for your hat as it is.”

The rest of the meal passes in pleasant, superficial chit-chat, and when they return to the office, the rest of the day flies by. The next day is much easier and more pleasant for both of them. Jack is enormously relieved by the changed state of things. Jesse’s mute defiance has been replaced by a kind of eager-to-please boyishness that Jack finds thoroughly charming, and they are beginning to be on friendlier terms all around. They eat lunch in the mess together, and Jesse entertains Jack with an absurd story about a family of raccoons he found living in the garage where the gang worked on their bikes.

There’s something Jack can’t quite put his finger on, though. He’s caught the boy looking at him oddly once or twice, and there seems to be some lingering tension there. As if Jesse is still walking on eggshells with him to some degree. What would Gabe do in this situation? He’d take the kid out for a drink and they’d hash it out. Then they’d be friends. Jack is uncertain about his own ability to accomplish such a feat, but he’s seen Gabe do it many times with outstanding results. He shores up his courage, and before they leave that evening, he broaches the subject.

“Hey, Jesse,” he says, attempting to sound nonchalant. “Where are you headed now?”

“Now, sir? I’m just fixin’ to get some dinner in the mess. You need me to stay and do somethin’?”

“No, it’s not that,” Jack says. He pauses and searches for the right words. “I thought, if you weren’t busy, we could…” he hesitates again. This is beginning to sound like he’s asking the kid on a date. Start over. “Why don’t we go get a drink?”

“You and…me?” Jesse asks, wide eyed. “Yeah. Yes. I mean, I’d really like that, sir.”

Fuck. Jesse isn’t twenty-one. “Wait, can you even go to a—”

“Come on, Commander,” Jesse says with mock reproach. “I thought you was all about knowin’ the laws. Legal age for beer in Switzerland is sixteen and it’s only eighteen for hard liquor.”

“Right,” Jack says, flushing slightly. “I forgot.”

Jesse laughs. “I bet I been to more booze joints ‘round these parts than you have anyhow.”

“Good then,” Jack grins. “You can pick. Anywhere you want to go.”

“Anywhere?” Jesse asks.

“Anywhere,” Jack repeats unwarily.

“I got just the place.” Jesse’s sly tone and rakish grin as he says this should warn his Commander that something is afoot, but alas, Jack is not extraordinarily alert to social cues. “Dress casual, ok? Jeans, if you got ‘em.”

“I do.”

“Perfect. Meet me downstairs in a half hour.”

Jack goes to his room to shower and change, then rides the elevator down to the lobby, blissfully unsuspecting of what the young devil has in store for him.

 

 

The massive hall is dark, but for the low glow of safety lights along the aisles. The music swells. The audience holds its collective breath, then applauds thunderously as a single spotlight rises to reveal the lithe, lovely form of a dancer, clad in white, with her back to the audience and her graceful arms held out like wings. She seems to float toward the center of the stage, as if borne on the serene waters of her own ethereal lake. As the music grows in sorrowful lamentation, so do her movements. She rises up en pointe, lowers herself to the floor, arches her back into a fluid curve, then bows low, every flowing undulation of her flawless body a poem. As the song comes to an end, she makes her final, forlorn obeisance to lost love, cradling her head in her arms and sinking down to rest it at last on her outstretched knee. The swan has died. The audience roars with applause, weeping and cheering and calling out, “Amélie! Amélie!”

Gabriel Reyes and his companion, Gérard Lacroix, rise with the rest of the spectators, cheering enthusiastically from their box-seat for the superb performance of Gérard’s beautiful and exceptionally talented wife. The lights rise once more, and the ballerina trips lightly back to center-stage, beaming and laughing, and blowing appreciative kisses to her adoring fans, as they shower her with bouquets and adulation. Gérard and Gabe wait respectfully in the wings as Amélie accepts her applause, then they head backstage to meet her.

There is a bright chaos of talk and laughter and feathers and satin as costumes are hastily doffed for street clothes and the dancers prepare to make merry together at the fashionable high-rise apartment of their premier ballerina and her amour. Amélie, still in full costume, is engaged in lively conversation with a very muscular, very beautiful young man Gabe recognizes as her costar. He is in the act of pulling on a black sweater, and Gabe can’t help but admire his chiseled abdomen as they approach. Amélie sees Gérard and Gabe and smiles, waving them over.

“Gabi! I am so happy to see you!” she exclaims, in her wonderfully lush French trill. She kisses him on both cheeks, then leaps into Gérard’s embrace. “You must meet Germain. He is my prince Siegfried. Germain Doisneau, this is Gabriel Reyes.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Germain,” Gabe says, shaking the dancer’s hand. “Your performance tonight was outstanding.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Germain says. “I thank you. But the real star in this sky is our dear Amélie, is it not?”

“Oh, you stop that,” Amélie laughs. “I must get dressed now, but you will come to supper, yes?”

“Tout à fait,” the young man says, smiling broadly. “À bientôt!”

 

Gabe is staying in a guest room at the palatial 8th Arrondissement home of the head of their French bureau and his lovely wife. He changes his stiff tuxedo for a pair of black jeans, with a tight black t-shirt and grey blazer. He is not particularly looking forward to a house full of noisy dinner guests, and he suspects Amélie is up to another one of her attempts to set him up with an amoreaux (that gorgeous infant from the ballet, this time). It is well-meant—for all she knows, he is a bachelor—but always tiring. But Gérard and Amélie have been excessively hospitable to him, so he resolves to be pleasant and cheerful for as long as he can stand it.

He finds Gérard at the well-stocked bar in the living room, and they take their glasses of whiskey out onto the balcony to smoke and talk until the guests begin to arrive. The evening is more enjoyable than Gabe had expected, being more of a lively little gathering of friends than a large dinner party. Amélie is in high spirits and basks in the convivial merriment of her friends and darling husband. Germain is seated beside Gabe, but he doesn’t appear to have any special inclination to pay attention to him. He rather ignores him, in fact. Gabe is relieved and feels a bit silly for thinking Amélie meant to arrange something between the magnificent youth and an old, war-wearied man like himself.

After dinner breaks up, the hosts and their guests repair to the living room for cocktails. As they begin to gradually depart, Gabe quietly escapes to the balcony to smoke again and clear his head. He is leaning on the railing, looking out over the Avenue Montaigne, when he hears the door open and shut, and someone stepping out. He turns his head to see Germain, who approaches and leans languidly on the railing beside him.

“Hello, Gabriel,” he says, pronouncing the name like “Gabrielle,” and adding a pop to the b which almost turns it into a p.

“Hello, Germain,” Gabe says. He takes care to keep his tone courteous but cool. “How are you?”

“Eh, I am well enough, I suppose,” Germain says, drawing a cigarette from a flat, blue box. “How are you finding Paris?”

Gabe recognizes the cigarettes as Gitanes, the brand Lydia used to smoke. He instinctively takes his lighter from his pocket and lights the cigarette for the young man.  

“I find it just as charming as I do every time I visit,” he replies noncommittally.

Germain laughs. “Very clever. You do not say whether you find it good or bad, merely the same.”

Gabe smiles. “I like it pretty well. But I prefer a warmer climate.”

“Ah, yes, you are from California, are you not?”

“That’s right. How did you know?”

“Amélie has spoken of you before.”

“All good, I hope.”

“I would not tell you, of course, if it were not good,” Germain says, smiling slyly. “But, yes. Mostly good.”

“Mostly?” Gabe says, turning to look into his companion’s face.

It is a strikingly lovely face, indeed. Something about his wide, long-lashed eyes and full, pouting lips…he reminds Gabe of Noah. The thought of the only man besides Jack that he could have loved hits him like a well-aimed blow to the chest.

“She says that you are…what is the word? _Solitaire_ …ah! lonely,” Germain replies. “She says that you are a good man and have many friends, but that you seem to always be alone, even when you are surrounded by people.”

Gabe’s brow furrows and he turns away, exhaling a cloud of white smoke into the clear night air. He is tremendously, achingly lonely. But he isn’t looking for a fuck. No matter how exquisite this boy is, with his languorous Parisian drawl and Olympian’s body. With a shudder he can’t conceal, he feels a warm hand on his forearm.

“Are you…lonely, Gabriel?” Germain says, looking up into Gabe’s eyes from beneath his sooty eyelashes.

“I—I’m married, Germain,” Gabe says hoarsely.

“But are you lonely?”

“Yes.”

Before he can send the signal from his brain to his body to stop himself, he is bending down to kiss the beautiful dancer. Germain leans into him and returns the kiss, and Gabe wraps his arms around him, kissing him more forcefully. Suddenly, Germain’s body goes rigid in his arms and he groans. He pushes with both hands against Gabe’s chest. Gabe lets him go instantly. The young man staggers backward, pale and trembling, There is blood on his lower lip. Gabe tastes blood in his own mouth, too.

“What—what happened?” Germain pants, staring wildly at Gabe. “Who are…who are you?”

Gabe is thunderstruck. What the fuck _did_ happen? He was kissing this man not a moment ago, and now he doesn’t seem to recognize him at all.

“I’m Gabriel, Amélie’s friend,” he says cautiously. “Germain, are you alright?”

“I…I am alright,” Germain says. His eyes are unfocused and vague. “Gabriel…yes, of course. I must have…had much more to drink than I thought. What were we talking about?”

“We were talking about Paris,” Gabe says, studying his face. “And how I like it here.”

He holds out a hand to steady the young man, but he backs away. “I apologize, Gabriel, but I feel…very unwell. I must—I must go.”

Gabe opens the door for Germain and follows him inside. He grabs Gérard immediately.

“Gérard, your friend Germain is sick,” he says in a rapid undertone. “Don’t let him leave alone. He had a…bizarre episode on the balcony. I’ll explain later, but he needs someone to see him home safely. Are there any agents nearby?”

“I will take him myself,” Gérard says. “Are you certain he does not need the hospital?”

“I’ll call in a doctor from the agency to meet you at his place,” Gabe says. “Thank you, Gérard. I’d go with him, but I don’t think he’d go with me.”

Amélie helps Gérard take the trembling young man to elevator while Gabe places the requisite call. He tells the desk agent to send a medical support to the address on file for Germain Doisneau, and to have them report back to Commander Reyes asap regarding the man’s condition. As he hangs up, Amélie returns, looking confused and worried.

“What has happened, Gabriel?” she asks anxiously. “Did Germain fall? He was bleeding from his mouth.”

“I—I don’t know, Amélie. He didn’t fall, no. He just suddenly became ill and disoriented and wanted to leave. Does he have any history of illness of this kind?”

“No, none at all. He could not dance at the Opéra if he was not in excellent health.”

“Well, hopefully it was just the effects of fatigue and alcohol.”

Amélie nods, but she still looks frightened. She wraps her arms around herself and sits on the corner of the sofa.

“We’re sending a doctor who will take good care of your friend,” Gabe says, laying a hand reassuringly on her petite shoulder. “Don’t worry too much, alright sweetheart?”

She presses his large hand gratefully with her tiny hand.

“I hope that you have enjoyed yourself otherwise,” she says, smiling bravely. “I am so sorry that Germain made an ass of himself. He did not seem so drunk at dinner.”

“No, he didn’t,” Gabe says musingly. “Amélie, do you have any idea why he…approached me?”

“He made a proposition to you?”

“Well…yes.”

“I assume that he wanted to have sex with you,” she shrugs. “Is that not normally the reason for such things?”

“And you didn’t—”

“I know I have meddled before, Gabi, but Gérard told me it was distressing to you to be interfered with in that way. I have not said anything to Germain about you.”

“Wait, you haven’t spoken to him about me at all?”

“Not at all. Why do you look that way? What is it?”

“He said…something to me. That you had told him I was lonely or something like that.”

“I have never said any such thing to anyone of you,” she says, shaking her head decidedly. “How unkind it would be to say such things of a friend!”

Gabe frowns. “How long have you known Germain?”

“He has been with the Opéra National perhaps…a year? I do not know him very well, apart from the fact that he is an admirable dancer and has always been courteous and respectful.” Her lovely face turns pale. “Gabriel…you do not think—”

“I don’t know what to think yet,” Gabe says.

He is pulling out his phone to dial Gérard’s number, when it rings in his hand with a call from Gérard. 

“It’s your husband,” he says, putting the phone to his ear. “Gérard, are you alright?”

“Commander,” Gérard’s voice comes back. “I am safe, but there has been an…incident. You should come here to Monsieur Doisneau’s flat.”

“On my way,” Gabe says. “Amélie, Gérard is safe, but I am going to need to borrow your car.”

“Nonsense,” Amélie replies, trotting off to fetch her keys. “I know Paris better than you do. I will drive you.”

Gabe resists this idea, but she puts her hands on her narrow hips and taps her little foot impatiently.

“Alright, then,” Gabe smiles. “Let’s go.”

 

 


	65. Jesse & James

Jack finds Jesse already waiting near the entrance of the Overwatch building. He is wearing tight, perfectly faded blue jeans, a red plaid cowboy-style shirt with pearl-colored snaps, a weathered, well-worn leather jacket, and his ubiquitous hat.

Seeing the Commander, he grinds his cigarette out under his boot and tips his hat, flashing a roguish grin. Jack has never seen Jesse in this mood before, outside of work, in his native dress. He feels somewhat nervous, but he attributes this to the fact that he is going to attempt to engage in a social activity with a subordinate, which is so far out of his norm as to be almost absurd.

“Look at you, Commander!” Jesse laughs. “Who woulda known you had it in you.”

“What do you mean?” Jack asks, as they climb into his car.

“Y’know, wearin’ a t-shirt and jeans like one of us common folks. And a leather jacket! If you’da given me a hundred to one odds, I’da never bet you owned one of them.”

Jack is indeed wearing a leather jacket, but his follows the model of the racing type. He prefers this style because it is simple and streamlined (and it doesn’t hurt that the close fit displays his trim waist to excellent effect). Jesse’s notice of his clothing has made him self-conscious, however, and he thinks perhaps he should have dressed more conservatively.

Jesse gives the address of the bar he has chosen to the Commander’s driver. The man raises an eyebrow, but he knows his business and doesn’t comment. The place is near to the main city center of Geneva, in the Pâquis neighborhood, which is (unknown to the Commander) Geneva’s red-light district. At around 20:15, they arrive at the address on Rue des Pâquis and Jack steps out after Jesse, telling the driver they’ll call a cab later, and he can go for the evening. The car pulls away and Jack follows Jesse toward a very lively, very noisy drinking establishment.

“Rawhide Saloon?” he says, eyeing Jesse dubiously. “You managed to find a cowboy bar in Switzerland?”

“Yes, sir, I did,” Jesse replies, suppressing a smile and keeping his eyes straight ahead.

Jack pulls out his wallet to retrieve his identification, but the burly man at the door eyes them up and down and then jerks his head, indicating that they are free to go inside. Jesse opens the door and they enter to the strains of Johnny Cash’s _Ring of Fire_ , being pumped through the sound system. Jack is immediately aware of several facts: the bar’s patrons appear to be almost exclusively male, drinks are being served by muscular, shirtless men in skin-tight Wrangler jeans and cowboy hats, and a man behind the bar is waving excitedly and calling out to Jesse over the boisterous clamor of the crowded establishment. Above the bar on the wall, a row of souvenir t-shirts are displayed for sale, bearing the slogan “Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy,” along with the Rawhide Saloon name and logo.

Jack grabs Jesse’s arm and stops him. “Jesse…this is a gay bar.”

“Is it?” Jesse asks, in mock disbelief. He pushes back the brim of his hat and looks around. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Jack raises his eyebrows. “So, you’re telling me you somehow managed to find a _gay_ cowboy bar in—holy shit, is that a mechanical bull?”

“Looks to be,” Jesse grins. “You wanna give ‘er a spin?”

“I—I don’t think so,” Jack says, shaking his head.

He is absolutely petrified by the entire situation and his instinct is to bolt, but Jesse is already pulling him toward the bar. The bartender who has been trying to get Jesse’s attention (and who _is_ wearing a shirt) greets them enthusiastically.

“Howdy, Jesse!” he exclaims, in an impressively thick German accent. “Where have you been?”

“Howdy, Karl,” Jesse says, leaning on the bar. “I been awful busy. You ain’t been keepin’ the light on for me, have you?”

“The light is always on for you!” Karl laughs. Then he rakes his eyes over Jack. “Mmmm. Who is your friend?”

“This is my cousin, uh—James. He’s payin’ me a visit from the States.”

“Ooh, Jesse and James!” Karl says, winking knowingly. “A pair of real American outlaws. I hope you are not too… _dangerous_.”

Jack thinks Karl looks as if he would very much like them to be dangerous.

“We’re only dangerous to the bad guys, darlin’,” Jesse says smoothly. “We’d never take advantage of a sweet little petal like you.”

Karl pantomimes giggling and fanning himself with his bar towel, then asks what they will have. Jesse orders whiskey and Jack orders an old fashioned, then they take their drinks and pick their way through the crowd. They find an open table near what appears to be a sort of elongated stage or catwalk of some kind. They are about to sit, when Jesse changes his mind. He leads Jack to a line of cushioned seats, arranged along the far wall facing the stage, with cocktail tables in front of them. Jack likes this far better, as it is a bit quieter over here, and is out of the general press of the crowd.

“This ain’t really the kinda place you expected, is it,” Jesse says, eyeing Jack over his glass of whiskey.

“No, it’s not.” Jack fidgets with his glass. “But I’m, uh…always open to…to trying new things. It seems to be quite a popular place.”

“Sure is,” Jesse smiles. “But it ain’t always so rowdy in here. Only tonight they’re havin’ a kind of a…show.”

As if on cue, the music fades and a voice over the speakers booms, “Howdy, y’all!” The crowd returns this salutation emphatically, then the announcer continues. “Please give a big Texas-style welcome to Mister Wiiiiiild Bill Hick-cock!”

The crowd loses its mind with applause as the lights lower and a spotlight beams down onto the stage. Jack suddenly understands why Jesse had thought better of taking the table up front, and is immensely grateful for the consideration. Wild Bill bursts onto the stage, wearing an enormous ten-gallon hat, a red bandana, a leather vest, and tearaway chaps over what appears to be a denim g-string. Jack looks at Jesse, then back at the stage, then breaks down laughing.

“Holy fucking shit, Jesse,” he says, when he catches his breath. “You must have the biggest, brassiest balls in the world. I told you to pick a place for us to have a drink and you brought me to a gay cowboy strip club.”

“Well, they like to call it a pansexual cabaret,” Jesse says, leaning back lazily in his seat. “But that’s about the size of it, yeah.” He grins. “You like it?”

Jack stares at him open mouthed for a moment, then he says, “You know what? I think I do. This is not a place I’d have ever visited on my own, but I’m glad we’re here. I haven’t done anything fun and crazy since…I can’t remember when.”

“Well, I’m glad. I figured you could stand to cut loose a little, Commander,” Jesse says, clapping Jack on the shoulder.

“Please, Jesse, we’re not at work,” Jack rejoins. “Call me _James_.”

They turn their attention to the athletic gyrations of Mr. Hick-cock, who has chosen to dance to the Saloon’s signature song (of course), _Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy_. This is followed by an array of other performances, all to country songs and all more or less similar in motif: a muscular dancer emerges in some kind of western costume, undertakes some extraordinary acrobatics, and ends cloaked in the thunderous admiration of the audience, and nothing else.

Jack doesn’t find this kind of thing particularly sexually arousing, but he enjoys himself thoroughly, exchanging comments and laughs with Jesse and even joining in the applause. As the performances end, Jack remarks on the fact that the dancers’ outfits were strongly reminiscent of what Jesse was wearing when they picked him up, which produces a crimson blush from the young cowboy.

“Oh, don’t be embarrassed!” Jack laughs, as Jesse’s hat comes down over his eyes. “You’re hotter than all these guys anyway. I’m surprised they haven’t asked you to dance.”

“Well…they kinda have, actually.”

“What, really?” Jack says, laughing even harder. “They want you to strip?”

“Not like a regular or nothin’,” Jesse says, with a sheepish grin. “There’s an amateur night once a month and Karl’s been wheedlin’ away tryin’ to get me to do it.”

“Karl, the bartender?”

“Karl’s the owner,” Jesse says. “Ain’t you noticed he’s the only one with a shirt on?”

“Oh, I wondered what that was about. But, Jesse, you’re not really going to strip…are you?”

“Fuck no, I ain’t!” Jesse laughs. “That’d violate about a dozen rules of conduct for Overwatch agents. ‘Sides, I was born with five or six left feet anyhow, so I think it’s best left to the professionals.”

Jack feels a little ridiculous for thinking that his young agent might actually be planning on stripping for a nightclub audience, but at the same time, he’s not so sure he’d be entirely opposed to seeing it. He catches himself in this thought and blushes to the ears, which he hides by downing his drink. Jesse doesn’t appear to notice, or if he does, he doesn’t say anything about it.

When it comes time to go, they stop by the bar to bid farewell to Karl, who extracts a positive promise from James that he’ll come back soon, and then they step out into the relative calm of the crisp, clear autumn night. Jack has only had the two drinks, and Jesse responsibly switched to ginger ale after his second whiskey, but they are still warm and giddy with the excitement of the lively evening they’ve had.

They take a cab back to HQ, laughing together and recounting some of the more ridiculously over-the-top antics of the dancers. As they step onto the elevator, Jack is suddenly reluctant to part with his new friend. He doesn’t easily make friends, and it feels so good just to be easy and cheerful with someone this way.

“Hey, are you hungry?” he asks, sliding his card for the top floor.

“Starved,” Jesse replies. “You wanna go to the mess and rustle up somethin’ to eat?”

“I’ve got a better idea. I happen to make the world’s best grilled cheese sandwich. You want one?”

“I dunno, Commander,” Jesse says doubtfully, crossing his arms. “I had some mighty good grilled cheese in my day. How do you know yours is the best?”

“Only one way to find out.”

It doesn’t occur to Jack in the slightest that what he is doing might very well be construed as the proverbial “would you like to come up?” that customarily follows a successful romantic evening. Jesse, however, is keenly, breathlessly aware of the implication. His mouth goes dry and he physically trembles as he follows his commanding officer into his spacious, immaculate quarters.

Jack removes his boots and tosses his jacket over the back of the sofa, then excuses himself to the restroom. Jesse removes his boots as well, then takes off his hat and jacket and lays them down by Jack’s. He stares around him at the sparsely furnished and yet somehow opulent apartment. He’s never seen the inside of the Strike-Commander’s private quarters before, and there is a daunting, awe-inspiring quality to it. Like being in a big fancy church.

Everything is spotlessly clean and looks exorbitantly expensive. The large, L-shaped sofa is white, as is the thick, plush carpet. A gigantic holovid screen covers almost an entire wall of the living room, and the coffee table and book shelves are some kind of rich, dark wood. Jesse notices immediately that there is something missing. Not a single personal photograph or knickknack can be seen in the place. He takes a closer look at the bookshelves. They are filled with military manuals, history books, and even a few cookbooks, but do not contain a single photo album or book for leisure reading.

He doesn’t have time to think about it, however, as Jack returns at that moment. He opens bottles of beer for them, then heats up a cast-iron pan and prepares what Jesse can honestly say is the best grilled cheese sandwich he’s ever eaten (correcting, of course, for slight bias). When their sandwiches have been enthusiastically consumed, they move to the living room to sit comfortably while they sip their beers.

Jack looks at Jesse curiously. “You’re…very interesting, Jesse.”

“I am?” Jesse says, glancing about as if he thinks the compliment must be intended for someone else in the room.

“You are,” Jack smiles. “There’s a lot more to you than meets the eye. I’m not proud to admit it, but at first, I really thought you were just another criminal. I assumed you were using the fact of losing your parents to excuse your actions. But I was completely wrong about you. I can see why Gabe likes you so much.”

“Commander Reyes?” Jesse asks, somewhat surprised. “I reckon he likes me enough.” He pauses, realizing how ungrateful this must sound. “I mean to say, he’s been real kind to me, and I know I owe him my life. He pulled me outta that pit and give me a chance to do somethin’ good with myself, and I won’t never forget it. But as long as we’re talkin’ plain this way, I gotta say I think all that’s more on account of him and me both bein’ orphans and him wantin’ to even up his own score than him bein’ particular fond of me.”

“I don’t think that’s true. He really cares about you. He’s been your loyal partisan since you first arrived here. In fact, I thought the two of you were…” Jack trails off and takes a swig of his beer.

Jesse’s eyes go wide. “Hold up a sec, pard. You thought Commander Reyes and me was fuckin’?”

“I don’t…I don’t think I suggested that,” Jack says uneasily. “But I thought there was something between you two that was…more than professional.”

Jesse blinks for a moment, then laughs out loud. “Fuck me, I ain’t never heard somethin’ so goddamn ridiculous. Me and the boss all romantic like?”

“So…there’s nothing like that between you two then?”

“Shit no!” Jesse says emphatically. “We only just got to bein’ more sociable together when we was in Nepal, and that’s cause he thought I was dyin’.”

“Christ. I am so embarrassed,” Jack says, resting his forehead in his hands.

“Naw, don’t be,” Jesse smiles, heartily patting Jack’s knee. “I ain’t offended or nothin’. You been all wrong about me from toe to tip. I’m just glad we’re gettin’ it all out now.”

“Thanks, Jesse,” Jack says, smiling up at him. “I am, too.”

“Anything else you wanna clear up, since we’re bein’ so personable?” Jesse grins. “Now’s your chance. You got a hankerin’ to know anything about the famous outlaw Jesse McCree?”

“I do, actually. How…how did you know I was gay?”

Jesse laughs again. “What do you mean, how?”

“I mean, I haven’t exactly been public about it. Almost no one knows.”

Jesse considers this for a moment. “That’s kinda like askin’ how I know we speak the same language. With some things, there ain’t no need to ask. Either we understand each other or we don’t.”

“Interesting,” Jack says. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

He gazes intently at the strange, striking young man who is now his friend. What an odd mixture of native intelligence and unschooled naïveté. He is beginning to think that a formal education would have hindered Jesse more than it helped. He is truly his own man. All his ideas are his own, born from his wits and his hours of solitary contemplation in the long, dark desert night.

Jesse gazes back, right into those blue, blue eyes. As much to his own surprise as his Commander’s, he grabs hold of the collar of the man’s white t-shirt and drags him into a desperate, reckless kiss. Jack makes a kind of muffled exclamation and pulls away, but Jesse hangs on. He is terrified by the impulsive, ridiculous thing he is doing. He’s shaking all over and his stomach is doing flips like it’s trying to show off. But he’s in too deep now and he doesn’t know any way out but all the way through. He covers that beautiful, arrogant mouth with his mouth, parts those soft, perfect lips with his, and pushes his searching tongue inside.

Jack’s mind is instantly ablaze with tormenting dualities. He wants Jesse. He loves Gabe. But Gabe doesn’t love him. He doesn’t act like he does. And things are so cold and complicated and distant between them. Jesse is so warm and real and… _here_.

Nothing could have prepared Jesse for his astonishment when the Commander actually begins to respond to his kiss. His heart pounds as Jack’s tongue slides forward to caress his. He feels strong hands moving up under his shirt, clutching at him with desire. Jack leans down to kiss his neck. Jesse buries his nose in that silky, pale-blonde hair and breathes deeply. He finds the warm, clean, masculine scent of the man intoxicating and oddly comforting. It’s so…familiar, somehow.

Jesse’s blood freezes. His stomach turns into a cold, dead weight in the center of his body. He knows this scent. Not cologne. Some kind of combination of shampoo and aftershave or something. Subtle but unmistakable. When the boss had held him and warmed him up in Nepal, he hadn’t recognized his scent, but he’d thought nothing of it at the time. He knows now, with absolute, razor-sharp clarity that it was Commander Morrison’s scent he’d smelled on Commander Reyes’ bathrobe that day, two years ago.

Jack draws back and looks into his face. “What’s wrong?”

Jesse sits up and runs his fingers through his hair. His hands are trembling and his mind is reeling. There is something going on between his Commanders. Why else would Morrison’s scent be on Reyes’ robe? But then why would Morrison think Jesse and Reyes were fucking? And why would he let Jesse kiss him? He can’t make sense of any of it, but every instinct in his body screams at him to get out of this situation before he winds up dead. His instincts have never failed him before. Jack is still looking at him, waiting for a response.

“I—I don’t…I don’t feel too good all the sudden,” Jesse says lamely. “I think I better go, sir.”

“Oh,” Jack says. His eyelashes lower over his big blue eyes. “I’m sorry, Jesse. I…didn’t mean to—”

“No, no,” Jesse says, taking the Commander’s hand and looking at him earnestly. “It ain’t nothin’ you done. I kinda pushed myself on you and I should be sorry. I really like you and I want us to be friends and have good times like we did tonight…only I can’t…I can’t do somethin’ that might hurt Commander Reyes.”

Jack’s face turns pale. “Hurt…Commander Reyes…?”

He is dumbfounded. How can the boy possibly know about him and Gabe? Unless Gabe told him. He dismisses this thought instantly. If Gabe had said anything to Jesse, he’d have been far too afraid to kiss Jack in the first place. But why should he have been afraid? He feels a deep, bitter pang of self-reproach. He knows why. Gabe loves him and he has known it all along. He has allowed his insecurity and jealousy to blind him, and he has done Jesse a terrible injustice in the process. He is ashamed of himself. He bows his head dismally and a hot, heavy tear rolls down his face.

It breaks Jesse’s heart to see his powerful childhood hero so sad and forlorn like this. With an upwelling of the pure, unrestrained compassion of his young soul, he throws his strong arms around his Commander and cradles the man like a child. He doesn’t know why, but tears are running down his own face, too.

“Aw, come on, now,” he sniffles. “It can’t be all that bad.”

“I—I don’t know what’s wrong with me Jesse,” Jack chokes out. He swallows hard. “I can’t understand what’s happening to me. I love Gabe. I love him so much. But things are so fucked up between us. I can’t understand why he’s so angry with me all the time. I don’t know what I did. I—I can’t remember, no matter how hard I try. And now I’ve dragged you into it and everything is so fucked. I’ll never get it—get it unfucked.”

“Don’t you say that,” Jesse says, squeezing Jack tighter. “Ain’t nothin’ so fucked as it can’t get unfucked. ‘Specially since you love him. That’s gotta count for somethin’. Have you tried talkin’ to him?”

“I don’t know how,” Jack says. “He gets so angry and it’s terrifying to me.”

“Terrifyin’? To you?” Jesse leans back and looks into Jack’s red-rimmed eyes. “I don’t believe that for a minute. You’re Commander Jack Morrison. You’re one of the best, bravest men on the whole planet. Ain’t nothin’ as can scare you, if you don’t let it.”

Jack finds himself wanting to smile at the stalwart manliness of his young friend. But he shakes his head. “No, Jesse. I’m a coward. I know I am. I can’t tell you how but I know it. I’m not afraid to be injured. I’m not afraid to die. But I’m afraid of…of…”

“You’re afraid to love someone,” Jesse says. Jack stares at him mutely, so he continues. “You and Commander Reyes are a lot more alike than you think. He’s scared shitless to let himself love someone, same as you are. He’s been hurt bad. That’s why he’s so angry. I dunno what happened to you, but you been hurt bad, too. Why don’t y’all sit down in a room and hash it out?”

“I…I don’t think it’s that simple, Jesse…”

“It is though,” Jesse insists. “You said you love him, right?”

Jack nods.

“Alright, then. Fuckin’ tell him that! How else is he supposed to know? Psychic powers?” He pauses. “Y’all super soldiers don’t got psychic powers, do you?”

Jack laughs in spite of himself. “No, we don’t.”

“That’s a relief. Cause I reckon the boss gets a whiff I been puttin’ the moves on you, they’ll never find my body.”

“I’m so sorry about all of this, Jesse.”

“No more of that. All’s we did was kiss once, and that ain’t nothin.’ No sense cryin’ over things you can’t change.” He looks Jack in the eye with a deadly solemn expression on his handsome young face. “You really love Commander Reyes? Like, real, true love?”

“I…I do.”

“Then promise me you’re gonna tell him.”

“But, Jesse—”

“Promise me, Jack. Say it. Cause you found your true love and you only get one of those. Most people don’t even get one. That ain’t somethin’ to throw out like trash. You promise me you’re gonna tell him.”

“Ok, Jesse. I promise.” Jack says, nodding slowly. “I’ll talk to him when he—wait a minute, did you just call me Jack?”

 


	66. Talon

Germain’s flat is in Le Marais, a more industrial but very fashionable area of Paris, within a mile or two of the Lacroix home. Gérard meets Amélie and Gabe on the street outside the building. Amélie is deeply concerned about her friend, and wishes to go up to see him. With some gentle coaxing from Gérard, however, she is convinced to leave him to the doctor’s care and to go home to rest.

“What’s the situation?” Gabe asks, as they ride the lift to Germain’s floor.

“Monsieur Doisneau has behaved very strangely,” Gérard says. “When I brought him here, he was still somewhat confused and listless. But when the medic arrived, he suddenly became agitated and violent. He threw a chair across the room and rushed at me as if he intended to assault me. But before he reached me, he fell to the ground and lay there rolling about, wailing as if he would die. The medic tranquilized him. He is more calm now, but he seems to be very ill.”

Inside the small flat, Gabe sees the medic standing across the room from Germain. She is holding a tranquilizer pistol and watching him warily. Germain is lying in his bed, staring vacantly at the ceiling.

Gabe addresses the young woman. “Agent…?”

“Oberkampf, sir,” she says.

“Agent Oberkampf, thank you for coming. Would you mind waiting outside? I need to speak with Mr. Doisneau.”

“Yes, sir,” the agent replies, holstering her weapon. She gives a smart salute and takes her leave.

Gabe turns back to Gérard. “How sedated is he? Can he understand me?”

“I do not know. He has been as you see him since he was tranquilized.”

Gabe approaches the bed cautiously, stopping about five feet away. “Germain, can you hear me?”

The young man rolls his head sluggishly to the side to look at Gabe, blinking his eyelids heavily. His voice comes out in a flat, atonal rasp that sends chills up Gabe’s spine.

“I…hear you…Gabriel Reyes.”

“Why did you attempt to assault Monsieur Lacroix?” Gabe says. Germain murmurs something too quietly for him to hear, so he steps closer. “Why did you attack Monsieur Lacroix, Germain?”

“We…are the tip…of…the spear.”

“What are you talking about? Who is ‘we’?”

Germain’s breathing is becoming labored and ragged. As if with tremendous effort, he says, “We are…Talon.”

Gabe whips around. “Gérard, get the entire bureau on alert. Go.”

Gérard already has his phone to his ear as he steps out into the hallway. Gabe moves to the side of the bed and bends down close over Germain.

“Why did your people shoot us down in Nepal?” he demands. “What do you want?”

Germain rolls his head from side to side. His body racks with a deep, wet cough. Blood trickles out of his mouth and down the side of his face. Suddenly, he seizes Gabe’s wrist and looks up at him, his eyes wide with panic. His skin is ashen and he is shaking violently.

“Gabriel,” he says tremulously, in a voice much more like his own. “I don’t…want to die…”

To Gabe’s horror and confusion, a thick, black vapor curls up out of Germain’s mouth like smoke as he says this. Gabe jumps back, aghast, as the vapor changes trajectory and streams directly toward him. It surrounds him and he feels it _enter_ him, for lack of any better word. Right through his skin, as if he is some kind of sponge soaking it up out of the air. He gasps and staggers. His heart pounds as a brief, powerful thrill of exhilaration and euphoria shivers through his body. He steadies himself and looks down at Germain. The young dancer’s handsome face is gaunt and grey, and his glassy, unseeing eyes stare at nothing.

“What the fuck,” Gabe whispers, frantically checking Germain’s body for a pulse. There is none to be found. “What the fucking fuck!”

Gérard comes back in at that moment to tell Gabe the bureau is on alert. He stops short, seeing the young man’s condition.

“Germain is dead,” Gabe says. “Get our people in here asap to transport the body to our medical examiner and search this place. Tell them to strip it down to the insulation. I want no stone unturned. Oh, and tell the ME not to touch the body till I say so.”

“Yes, Commander,” Gérard says. He lowers his voice respectfully. “How did the boy die?”

“I don’t know,” Gabe says, taking out his phone. “But we’re going to find out.”

 

It is nearly five o’clock in the morning, and Angela is at work, as usual. She is looking into the eyepiece of some kind of device that appears to be a huge, dual-lensed microscope. Her phone vibrates in her pocket. She pulls it out and touches the answer button without removing her eyes from the scope.

“Dr. Ziegler,” she says, adjusting a dial with her free hand.

“Angela. I need you here as soon as possible.”

“Gabriel,” she says, mildly surprised. “You need me to come to Paris? What has happened?” There is a long pause. “Hello? Gabriel, are you there?”

“I’m here.”

“What happened?”

“The animals attacked.” 

She pushes her chair back and hops up, beginning to collect her equipment as she speaks. “I will be there in two hours. Casualties?”

“A Frenchman named Germain Doisneau. We believe him to be a hostile agent.”

“Have you spoken to Ja—Commander Morrison?”

“No, I’ll brief him once we know more.”

“Understood. I will be there soon.”

Gabe hangs up without saying goodbye. Angela sighs and continues to prepare her gear. She orders an airborne transport to the Paris Bureau, and then goes to her room. She changes into a black, skin-tight, aramid-mesh suit, over which she straps on her glossy-white body armor. She covers this with a long trench coat, takes her bag, and heads out the door.

 

Jesse wakes gradually, sore and stiff in all his limbs. His chest aches as if a dead weight has settled upon it. He glances around groggily. Wait. Where the fuck—oh, shit. He begins to sit up and becomes aware that there is, in fact, a very literal weight on his chest in the form of a heavy, blonde head. His limbs are sore and stiff because they are being pressed into the sofa by two-hundred-odd pounds of unconscious Strike-Commander.

He remembers talkin’ and cryin’ and huggin’ him. Then things get hazy. They must’ve fallen asleep here and the Commander just kinda snuggled into him. He don’t mind so much, only he wishes he weren’t so hard. Ain’t no way the man won’t feel it soon as he wakes up. Christ, he’s heavy though. What is he made of, lead weights? But he’s warm, too. And he smells so nice. Jack stirs in his sleep and sighs softly. Jesse smiles. Maybe he’ll just let him sleep a little while longer.

He feels a deep, aching pang of disappointment. He’s been daydreaming about sleeping with this man since he was maybe fourteen, but this ain’t the way he’d pictured it. On a couch with all their clothes on, after he’d honorably conceded him to another man. But, that’s the way with matters of the heart. Don’t always work out the way you hoped. Plus, it ain’t as if they was gonna be like, together, like a couple or nothin’. It woulda been just sex. That wouldn’t be the right thing. This is the right thing. Jesse’s gonna help him work it out with his true love and they’re all gonna be friends. No matter how bad it hurts. Cause it’s the right thing to do. He swallows the lump in his throat, then he reaches up and strokes Jack’s hair.

“Hey,” he whispers. “Wake up, would ya?”

Jack stirs again and makes a drowsy little noise. He shifts his hips and Jesse can feel his hard cock grind against his through their pants. Jesus fuck. Is he tryina kill a fella?

“Come on,” Jesse says, shaking him gently. “I gotta piss like crazy and you’re gonna squish it outta me.”

Jack lifts his head, blinking and disoriented in the dark. “Gabe…?”

“Uh, no, sir. It’s me.”

At the sound of Jesse’s voice, Jack pushes himself hastily up off the couch.

“Fuck me, what time is it?” he says. “Shit, it’s 0530. Jesse, you’ve got to get out of here.”

“Don’t act like I don’t know it,” Jesse says. He’s already pulling on his boots. “I ain’t lookin’ to get murdered for _not_ fuckin’ you—I mean…yes, sir.”

“Don’t worry about it, just go! Quickly! People will be up soon and if anyone sees you, we’re cooked.”

Jesse collects his hat and jacket and hurries out the door. Jack shuts it softly behind him, then goes to shower and dress. Jesse turns the corner from the Strike-Commander’s quarters and almost runs headfirst into Dr. Ziegler, who is just leaving her own room.

“Jesse?” she says. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh—uh, mornin’ ma’am,” he stammers. “I was just, uh…droppin’ somethin’ off with the Commander.”

“Why are you dressed that way?” she asks, arching an eyebrow.

“I—well—I really gotta go ma’am. I’ll talk to ya later, ok?”

Jesse trots off down the hall, leaving Angela staring after him. She laughs to herself as she steps into the elevator. Perhaps the boy takes a bit _too_ much after his father.

 

“There is massive hemorrhaging in his brain and lungs, but no other sign of trauma,” Angela says, pulling off a pair of nitrile exam gloves. She drops them in the waste bin. “Until the toxicity and other screens come back, I cannot guarantee it, but it is fairly safe to say that your nanites were the cause.”

“But why did they attack him?” Gabe asks, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “They’ve never done anything like this.”

“Monsieur Doisneau’s blood contains a high concentration of its own nanites. They are a rudimentary type, far inferior in design to yours. It appears that your nanites detected hostile programming in close proximity to their host and entered his body to attack it.”

“I didn’t even know they could do that,” Gabe says, bewildered. “And why didn’t I sense the nanites in him myself?”

“Gabriel, we would know everything we need to know without all of this needless trouble if you would simply communicate with them,” She says irritably. “Had you learned to do so, this may even have been prevented. But, without orders from you, they simply acted on instinct and defended you. As bees do when their hive is threatened.”

“You know why I couldn’t do that.”

“I know why you could not do it then, but what reason do you have for continuing to ignore these things that make up more than half of your body now and that are quite literally keeping you alive?”

“My reasons haven’t changed.”

“Gottverdammt!” she says, throwing her hands up in an exasperated gesture. “Jack does not even remember Noah existed!”

“Jack doesn’t remember his own family existed, thanks to you,” Gabe replies icily. “But he is still my husband.”

“Does he know that?”

“You know he doesn’t.”

“Then _is_ he your husband? How can he be held to vows he does not remember taking?”

“He’ll remember. Someday, he’ll remember.”

“It does not work that way, Gabriel,” she says, sighing patiently. They have had this conversation before. “He cannot remember your history together without also recalling the traumatic loss that incapacitated him so severely as to bring him to take such extreme measures.”

“He can’t have understood what it would mean.”

“He knew what he was doing. I know it is painful for you, but it was the right decision. He sacrificed his personal happiness to save millions of lives.”

“He sacrificed me,” Gabe says numbly, staring past her at the disarray of lab equipment and computer displays. “I saved just as many lives without sacrificing him.”

“He was never as strong as you are, Gabriel,” she says. She lays a hand gently on his shoulder. “But that does not mean he loved you any less.”

He shakes her hand off and gets up from his chair. “Stop talking about him like he’s dead, Angela. I won’t hear it. Jack is still in there somewhere and I will find him.”

“What if he does not want to be found? Have you thought of that? Perhaps he is better off this way.”

Gabe shakes his head. “No. No, I don’t believe that. Living like that, with half your life obliterated…it can’t be better than knowing the truth. No matter how painful it is.”

“Then why have you not tried to force him to remember?”

“Because it would—” he breaks off abruptly and looks away.

“That’s right. Because it would be monstrous. Because it would destroy his mind.”

“His mind is already destroyed. You destroyed it.”

“I only did what he asked.”

“I know,” he says bitterly, turning to go. “Call me when the results are back. I need to take a walk.”

“Gabriel, consider what I said about communicating with your nanites,” she calls after him. “If you do not learn to do so, we may be unable to prevent what happened to Monsieur Doisneau from happening again. Perhaps to someone more innocent.”

He grunts in response and the door slams shut behind him. He takes the elevator to the top floor, then ascends the stairs to the roof. He pulls out his phone, debating whether to call Jack, then puts it away again. He lights a cigarette and stands gazing out over the Parisian skyline. Master Mondatta had called the nanites a marvelous gift. They are a gift. But a dangerous gift. They keep him alive. They help him hear and recognize electrical devices, as they had helped Noah, but he doubts he understands them as clearly as Noah did. Maybe that’s why he didn’t hear Germain’s nanites. He doesn’t normally listen. He had listened at the Monastery because Noah had told him to.

His heart sinks as he remembers his friend, buried long ago in the deep, dark Virginia soil. But the vision or hallucination outside Tengboche had been so real. It is as vivid and clear in his mind as any other memory. He closes his eyes, bringing that sad, beautiful face before his inner eye.

“Noah,” he says softly. “I wish you were here. I need your help.”

_I am always with you, Gabriel._

Gabe gives a start and glances about at the empty rooftop. Noah’s voice. He’d heard it almost as distinctly as if the man had been standing beside him. He shuts his eyes tightly and concentrates on the serene, moonlit valley in the snow-covered highlands of Nepal. The image expands and coalesces, then wavers and dissipates into disordered fragments. He tries again, but is shaken rudely from his reverie by the chirp of his phone. It’s a text from Jack.

OCM-001: Hey, how is everything going over there? What did you need Angela for?

BWR-002: A man claiming to be an agent of the Talon group made some trouble for us. We neutralized him. Angela is working on the autopsy.

About ten seconds pass and then Gabe’s phone vibrates with an incoming call.

“Hey, Jack.”

“Gabe, this is pretty fucking serious,” Jack says. “That’s two attacks on you in a month.”

“He didn’t attack me. He tried to assault Gérard at his flat.”

“At Gérard’s flat?”

“No, at his own flat. I’ll explain all that when I get back,” Gabe says. “Listen, Jack, the man was Mel’s costar at the ballet, which means they’ve been onto Gérard for a while.”

“If this Talon group has been able to get that close to us, we should move her to protective custody for a while. At least till we deal with it.”

“I agree. I’ll talk to Gérard about it today.”

“How are they?”

“She’s pretty shaken up, but you know him. He’s a professional.”

Jack sighs. “Poor Mel. She’s so young and delicate. She’s not cut out for this kind of life.”

“No, she’s not,” Gabe says. “But I think she’ll stick it out alright. She really loves him.”

“I hope so. Keep me posted. When will you be back?”

“I might need a few more days, depending on what we find out. That reminds me, how are things going with Jesse? You have him court-martialed yet?”

“No, things are—they’re good. He’s…good,” Jack says, suddenly flustered. “Listen, I need to…we need to talk about something. When you get back, ok?”

“Uh oh. He hasn’t been ratting me out for stealing office supplies, has he?”

“Yep. It’s all over for you, Reyes. The kid sang like a canary. Blew the lid off your whole black-market stapler operation.”

“Don’t forget the desk calendars. That’s where the real money is.”

Jack laughs. The sound is so musical in Gabe’s ears that he almost wants to cry. But he laughs, too, not wanting to dampen the cheerful moment. There is a pause.

“Gabe, I—” Jack begins, then stops.

“What?” Gabe asks. No answer. “Come on, Jack. Spit it out.”

“I…miss you.”

Gabe’s heart skips a beat. “I miss you, too, Jack.”

“I’ve got a meeting now,” Jack says. “I’ll talk to you soon, ok?”

“Ok, later. Oh, and try not to kill Jesse. If you can help it.”

“No promises.”

Gabe hangs up the call feeling more hopeful than he has in a long while. His body aches to hold Jack in his arms. To feel his warmth on his skin and the touch of his soft lips. He chastises himself bitterly for his indiscretion with the dancer. What the fuck had he been thinking? Of course, he hadn’t been thinking. Not with his brain, at least. And now Germain is dead. But his death has exposed a very real danger which was much nearer than any of them had suspected. He thinks of Jesse, ash-white and bleeding out in the Himalayan snow. Whoever these Talon people are, they’re going to pay dearly for that boy’s suffering.

 

Jesse is spending his fourth day with the Strike-Commander, attending a series of meetings in which his primary function is to sit still and invent ways to keep himself from falling asleep. Someone called Captain something is droning on about import and export laws in Japan. Jesse entertains himself by imagining the look on the woman’s face if she had seen him kissing their boss last night. He suppresses a smile and ignores what she is telling the Commander about cost increases and shipment loss and Yakuza involvement and—his ears perk up. That _is_ something interesting. Yakuza are the badass Japanese gangsters from the movies. They do Kung-Fu and have swords and shit. He didn’t know they were actually real. He listens raptly to everything she says after that. As the meeting adjourns, he practically bounces along after Jack, brimming with excitement.

“Commander, what’re we gonna do about them Yakuza?” he says, as they enter Jack’s office. “I mean, if they’re makin’ trouble for our suppliers and all that, shouldn’t we better get over there and give ‘em what for?”

“I think Gabe was working on a Yakuza case,” Jack says. “I don’t know how far he got. You can take a look at it, if you want.”

“Yes, sir,” Jesse says eagerly. “I’d like to, very much. That stuff is real exciting. You know, codes of honor and samurai and secret societies and whatnot. I always wanted to go to Japan.”

“Well, if the case has anything to it, maybe you’ll get to go,” Jack smiles. “I mean, if Gabe says you can, obviously. Let me pull it up for you. I don’t think you have clearance to get into his personal case files.”

Jack bends over Jesse’s computer for a moment and calls up the appropriate documents. He’s glad to see Jesse so enthusiastic about it, and a little relieved to give him something to do besides act as his personal assistant. It’s wearing him out to be so close to Jesse, talking to him and looking at him all day. Their mutual physical attraction hasn’t magically disappeared now that they’ve cleared the air between them, and it’s making them both a bit tense in each other’s presence.

“There you go,” he says, moving back to his own desk. “It’s all yours.”

“Aizukotetsu-kai…Imagawa-kai…Shimada-gumi…” Jesse mutters, perusing the information on his screen. “Holy shit, Commander, you know they got clans and everything? It really is like in the movies.”

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” Jack says distractedly, glancing up from his screen. “I guess it is like the movies.”

He wishes Gabe would get back. They haven’t had sex in weeks and Jack is beginning to feel an intense need for physical contact in a way he never has before. That’s probably the reason he fell asleep with Jesse like that. The simple comfort of a human touch had lulled him into a profound state of rest, almost like a trance. He watches Jesse squinting intently at his computer for a moment, then forces his eyes back onto his own work. He really wishes Gabe would get back.

 

 


	67. Wild Horses

The Paris newspaper headlines the next day are awash with reports of the tragic death of Germain Doisneau, one of the star dancers at the Opéra National. Monsieur Doisneau died suddenly last night from the rupture of an undiagnosed brain aneurysm. The ballet will take a short hiatus while his colleagues and friends mourn his passing. His costar, Madame Amélie Lacroix (née Guillard), has issued a brief, heartfelt statement to the press expressing her extreme sorrow, as well as her wishes that her privacy and that of her fellow dancers be respected in this time of mourning.

Despite her request, a legion of paparazzi have encamped themselves in the street below the Lacroix home, in hopes of catching a candid photo of the beautiful star as she grieves for her friend. Unknown to the zealous photographers, however, Madame Lacroix boarded an Overwatch jet well before the statement had even been released, bound for one of the most secure locations in the world. Gérard has remained in Paris to continue the investigation and maintain the appearance that they are both present. Gabe takes Amélie up to her top-floor suite to drop her bags and freshen up before they go to see Commander Morrison.

“What do you think?” Gabe says, as she splashes some water on her face in the bathroom. “Will you be ok here for a couple of weeks?”

“I am certain I will,” she says bravely, coming out to sit by him on the sofa. “This place is very comfortable and you are so very kind to have me…but…”

“What is it?”

Her lip quivers and she breaks down into tears. “What if something were to happen to Gérard while I am away, Gabi? I think I should die.”

Gabe takes the petite young woman in his arms and lets her weep on his shoulder. “Sweetheart, I know you’re worried about him and things are pretty scary right now, but I promise this is what’s best. Gérard just wants you to be safe and there’s nowhere safer than here.”

“And I want him to be safe,” she says, sniffling.

“Gérard can take care of himself,” Gabe says gently. “And I’ll be going back to assist with the investigation as soon as you’re settled, so don’t you worry.”

“You are very strong, Gabi,” she says gravely. “I know he will be safe if you are there.”

“Well, I won’t argue with you,” Gabe grins. “There probably aren’t many men as strong as me. But I hope it won’t come to fighting. I think if we’re careful, we’ll be able to shut them down without an out-and-out confrontation.”

“I hope so, too.”

“Are you ready to go say hello to Jack?”

“Oh, yes, I am delighted to be seeing Jack again,” she says. “You know, Gérard used to tease me terribly about him.”

“Why’s that?”

“He said that Jack is so handsome, I would be charmed by him and run away with him!”

“Well, Jack is an attractive man.”

“No, no,” she says, pursing her little lips. “He is far too…how to say it…pretty. Like a girl.”

“Like a girl!” Gabe laughs merrily. “I’ve never heard Jack called girly before. Pretty, on the other hand, I understand that. He is certainly pretty.”

“That is what I said to Gérard,” she grins. “I told him you are much more handsome than Jack, and that if he did not stop teasing, I would run away with you instead.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I’d take you, just to teach him a lesson,” Gabe says, kissing her cheek. “Come on. Let’s go see that pretty Commander and then I’ll take you to dinner.”

 

 

“Hey, Mel, you look absolutely lovely,” Jack says, as Amélie and Gabe enter his office. He embraces her warmly and kisses her on both cheeks. “How are you doing?”

“Oh, I am as well as I can be,” she sighs. She casts a sparkling smile on Jesse, who is standing awkwardly by his desk. “Who is this strapping young man? I have not met him before.”

“Howdy, ma’am,” Jesse says, coming forward and stiffly shaking her hand. “Mighty pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise,” she laughs. “But what is your name?”

“This is Jesse,” Gabe says. “He works for me, but he’s helping Jack out while I’m away.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Jesse,” she says with another sweet smile.

She goes to sit down with Jack at his desk, and the two chat together, leaving Gabe and Jesse to themselves for the moment.

“How’s—uh—how’s Paris, boss?” Jesse asks, unable to conceal his apprehension.

Gabe eyes him cagily. “It’s Parisian. What’s wrong with you? You look guilty.”

“Nothin’s wrong, boss,” Jesse replies, blushing to the ears. “I ain’t sure what you mean.”

“We’ll see about that,” Gabe says, arching an eyebrow. “Have you been getting along with Commander Morrison?”

“We been gettin’ on ok. I sure am glad you’re back, though.”

“Well, I have to go to Paris again tomorrow morning. So you may have to stick it out for a little longer.”

“Aw, really? I was hopin’ to get back to workin’ with you.”

“Jack’s that bad, huh?” Gabe smirks.

“It ain’t that,” Jesse says, fidgeting with his prosthetic. “It’s only, workin’ here ain’t quite the same as what we do. Most everything’s meetings and writin’ memos. Gets awful tiresome.” Then his face brightens. “Oh, except Commander Morrison’s been lettin’ me read up on that Yakuza case of yours, and that’s real exciting. I got some ideas about it, if you wanna hear ‘em.”

“I’ll have to hear about it later,” Gabe says. “This Talon thing is top priority right now. But keep at it. Maybe you’ll find something I missed.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll do that. Thanks, boss.”

When they take their leave of Jack and Jesse, Amélie is visibly pale and drooping.

“Gabi, would you mind terribly if I wanted to order something up to my room?” she says, leaning on his arm. “I am afraid I cannot keep my eyes open much longer.”

“Alright,” Gabe says doubtfully. “But are you sure you’re going to be ok by yourself?”

“I will be perfectly fine,” she smiles. “Gérard is going to telephone me in a little while and then I plan to have a bath and go right to bed. Today has been quite the ordeal.”

“I know it has, and you’ve been an amazingly good sport. I’ll let Jack know that we won’t have the pleasure of your company for dinner, but you two have all week to catch up, so he won’t mind.”

“By the way, you must tell me more about Jesse,” she says, as they wait for the elevator. “Where did he come from?”

“Jesse’s a good kid. An orphan from New Mexico. We recruited him two years or so ago, and he’s one of my best agents.”

“Is that so,” she says, looking at him oddly. “Hm.”

“What is it?”

“It is nothing. I am very silly sometimes. But what happened to his arm?”

“Talon,” he says, furrowing his brow. “Shot us down on a mission. He almost died.”

“That is dreadful! Oh, Gabi, the poor boy! I hope you make them very sorry for it!”

“I will,” Gabe says, stopping at her door and kissing her hand. “I promise. Goodnight, my dear. And you call me if you need anything at all. My room is just around the corner, ok?”

“I will. Goodnight Gabriel.”

Gabe walks back down the hallway toward his room. He pulls out his phone to check the time. It’s only 19:15. He types a message to Jack.

BWR-002: Hey, Mel’s worn out and she’s going to eat in her room and go to bed. You still want to have dinner?

OCM-001: Yeah. My place in an hour?

BWR-002: Sure.

OCM-001: What do you feel like eating?

BWR-002: Whatever. You pick.

OCM-001: Ok. See you soon.

Gabe goes to his quarters to shower and change, which takes fifteen minutes, even though he’d thought he rather lingered in the shower. He goes out to the patio to smoke, and finds himself tapping his foot anxiously on the bench. Of course, Amélie would have been perfectly alright making the journey on her own, with a fully-armed escort on a military jet. But that “I miss you” from Jack may as well have been a grappling hook planted in Gabe’s chest, drawing him in with inescapable force. He arrives at Jack’s room to find the table set and and filled with an array of Chinese dishes from one of the restaurants downstairs.

“Ok, Jack, I know when you’re trying to butter me up with food,” he says. “What’s going on? Am I getting fired?”

Jack laughs nervously and runs his fingers through his hair. “I just wanted to remind you why you eat off-campus as much as possible.”

“Hey, I’m not picky when I’m this hungry,” Gabe shrugs, taking a seat.

“You want a beer?”

“Sure.”

Jack opens two bottles of a German beer labeled Früh Kolsch, and joins Gabe at the table. Gabe sets to with a healthy appetite, but he notices that Jack is only picking at his food.

“So, Amélie’s going to be here for a little while,” Jack says, skewering a broccoli floret with his chopstick. “I hope she’ll be alright. It’s quite a culture shock from her life in Paris.”

“She’ll be fine, I think. Gérard is going to come up once a week and spend time with her.”

“Oh, good. That’ll be good,” Jack replies distractedly. “What did Angela say about the autopsy?”

“You got the report, right?”

“Yeah, just…you know. Sometimes she says things that can’t go in the reports because they’re technically just her opinion.”

Gabe sets his fork down. “Jack, if you stab that piece of tofu one more time, I’ll start to think you have a vendetta. What’s going on?”

Jack frowns and looks down at his plate. “I…well…there’s something I want to tell you. But I don’t know how you’re going to take it.”

“Come on, Jack. When have you ever not been able to tell me something?”

Jack’s bright blue eyes dart up to Gabe’s face, then quickly away again. He shakes his head. “This is different. It involves someone else, and I have to make sure you understand the circumstances, or it could get…ugly.”

Gabe’s mind clicks into action and speeds through a multiplicity of calculations. It returns the conclusion, based upon Jack’s words, the recent circumstances, and his observations from today, that something has happened between Jack and Jesse. He instantly rejects this as insane and unthinkable, but no other solution is forthcoming.

He crosses his arms. “Well?”

“Don’t look at me like that, Gabe,” Jack says, drumming his chopstick anxiously on his plate. “I can’t talk to you if you’re angry.”

“I’m not angry, Jack. Just frustrated. Tell me what you want to tell me.”

“Come sit in the living room. I don’t want to talk about it over greasy Chinese food.”

Gabe follows Jack to the sofa and sits a couple of feet away, gazing at him intently.

“So, listen,” Jack says. “Don’t flip out.”

“I’m not going to flip out,” Gabe replies evenly.

“Because I was only trying to do what you always do, and make friends with the people who work for me.”

“And?”

“Well, I took Jesse out for drinks and we had a really nice time. He’s a good kid, Gabe.” He looks up pleadingly at Gabe. “He really is. And he’s smart and kind and he really cares about you.”

“Does he, now.”

“He does. Listen. We…um—I…kissed him.” Jack’s hands are shaking now. “Just once, and it won’t happen again, but it’s important that you understand the whole situation.”

“I am all ears,” Gabe says icily.

“Then he stopped me, and he…he told me—”

“He stopped you,” Gabe says, standing abruptly. “He’s the one who stopped. Not you, the superior officer who had absolutely no business—”

“Gabe, don’t, please. Please just listen to me.” Jack’s voice wavers and he clears his throat before he continues. “He said he couldn’t do anything that would hurt you.”

Gabe’s rising wrath is somewhat checked by his surprise at this revelation. “Jesse said—how did he know about us?”

“I don’t know. He just knew. So then we talked. For a long time. And he made me…realize something that I’ve been denying and—and he made me promise I’d tell you, so…” Jack trails off, looking miserably at the floor. He takes a long, shaky breath, swallows his fear, and looks up into Gabe’s fierce, dark-brown eyes. “Gabe, I love you. I am in love with you.”

Gabe stands frozen in place, staring in utter disbelief at his husband. Shaken to the marrow by the power of the idea. Jack has fallen in love with him. With his memory obliterated and his mind a wasteland of contradictions and self-delusion, with no knowledge of what they are to each other. He has fallen in love with his own husband. Not once, but twice. There are few who could make that claim.

Gabe’s facial expression is unreadable to Jack. He looks angry and cold. Jack hangs his head and covers his eyes with the palms of his hands. What has he done? Everything is fucked now, for sure. He’ll lose the man he loves _and_ his new friend and be utterly alone. His chest heaves with a deep sob.

“I’m—I’m so sorry,” he stammers. “I fucked everything up—so badly. I don’t know what’s wrong with—”

His sentence is cut short by a desperate, almost ferocious kiss that takes his breath away. Gabe’s strong arms are around him, drawing him close, holding him in a crushing embrace.

“Jack, I love you, too,” Gabe breathes, between urgent kisses. “I love you. I love you.”

Jack clings to Gabe, tears pouring down his face, though he can’t understand why. His heart is pounding and his chest feels full and tight, and aches like it’s going to split open. He’s never felt this way. Happy and sad and frightened and comforted at the same time. He sighs a deep, shuddering sigh that originates in his middle and liquefies throughout his entire body. The storm of discordant, painful chaos that swallows his mind when he feels anything very strongly dissolves like a puff of smoke on a summer breeze. Whatever their past was, whatever their future may be, he knows all he needs to know. He is in Gabe’s arms, and this is where he belongs.

Gabe draws away and Jack opens his eyes. His face is different than Jack has ever seen it. It’s luminous, almost radiant with his gentle smile. This is how a man looks at the one he loves. Jack’s stomach flutters and he feels suddenly timid and shy. He’s never been nervous with Gabe, but now, under his openly adoring gaze, Jack’s cheeks flush with heat and he finds he can’t meet his eye.

Gabe laughs softly. “Look at me, cariño.

Jack raises his blue eyes and gazes into the deep, dark wells of suffering and enduring devotion in Gabe’s eyes. He trembles.

“Jack. I love you.”

“I love you, Gabe. I love you so much,” Jack says, just above a whisper. “Make—make love to me. I need to feel you inside me.”

Gabe lifts his beloved in his arms and carries him to his bedroom. When he bends down to lay Jack in the bed, he feels a chain slide against his neck. Fuck. He forgot to take it off. He wants to tear the chain from his neck, put the ring on Jack’s finger, and claim him for his own, but he knows this is not the right time, nor the right way to do it. He excuses himself to the bathroom and removes the chain, stuffing the ring securely into the bottom of his jeans pocket, then returns to Jack. Jack lifts his head from the pillow and reaches out his arms, and Gabe falls gratefully into them.

They undress each other slowly, almost shyly, as if they are doing this for the first time and not the ten-thousandth. They lie naked together for a long time, kissing and stroking each other’s bodies, prolonging the moment to draw every bit of this poignant bliss from it that they can. When Gabe penetrates him at long last, Jack weeps. Not from pain, but from a profound, visceral depth of emotion he can’t adequately describe.

Gabe gazes raptly into his beautiful blue eyes as he thrusts slow and deep. They breathe in perfect synchrony, moving together as if they are two separate beings sharing one mind. When Jack comes between them, it is with a deep, throbbing ache that builds slowly inside him, intensifying and gathering force, until it bursts in a lingering convulsion of dizzying ecstasy. Gabe comes at the same time, holding his face in his hands and saying, “Jack, Jack, I love you.”

Then he lowers himself onto Jack’s glistening, naked body and lies there, catching his breath and feeling Jack’s heart beating against his chest. Jack reaches up and draws lazy little circles on Gabe’s back with his fingertips, raising goosebumps all over his skin.

“Gabe,” Jack says softly.

“Hm?”

“Please don’t kill Jesse.”

“We’ll see,” Gabe says, rolling onto his back. “I really should, that sneaky little fuck.”

Jack nestles into him and rests his head on his shoulder. “He really did talk some sense into me. That has to count for something.”

“I don’t know,” Gabe says. “He also kissed you.”

“I told you I kissed _him_.”

“You told me that, yes. But I know you, Jack Morrison. If you’re a man who’d make the first move under any circumstances, let alone with a teenaged subordinate, I’ll eat the kid’s idiotic hat.” He laughs and shakes his head. “I can’t believe the balls on that fucking kid, trying to fuck the boss. I might have to put him down just for that.”

“I’m your boss, too, you know. You can’t kill him if I order you not to.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night, cariño.”

“Maybe I’ll have you thrown in the lockup for insubordination.”

“No you won’t,” Gabe grins, wrapping his arms tightly around Jack. “You’re mine now, baby.”

“Oh yeah?” Jack says, laughing as Gabe’s whiskers tickle his neck.

“Yep. All mine.”

“Mmmm. Do you really have to go in the morning?”

“Well, you’re my boss. I guess you could order me to stay.”

“I would if I thought you’d even pretend to listen,” Jack smiles. “But you’ll sleep here with me, won’t you?”

“Of course I will. Wild horses couldn’t drag me out of this bed tonight.”

“Gabe?”

“Yes, Jack?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, baby.”

 


	68. The Chain

Agent Claudia Oberkampf is having one heck of a week. First, she got called in on a medical assist that turned out to be for Commander Gabriel Reyes. He was taller in person than he looks on TV, she told her mother on the phone that night. And handsomer, too. She always thought it was totally bullshit that they passed him over for Morrison. Reyes was the real leader and everyone knows it. Then, the very next morning, she arrived at work to find herself face to face with Dr. Angela Ziegler. Angela fucking Ziegler! The woman whose work was the reason Claudia became a combat medic in the first place is here, in the Paris bureau!

She volunteered to assist Dr. Ziegler, and since she’d been on scene at the incident the doctor is here to investigate, Agent Lacroix agreed. The doctor is in the laboratory next door to the morgue, making what use she can of the equipment available there, which is significantly less sophisticated than what she has in her own lab at Swiss HQ. Claudia, extremely eager to help, but finding the doctor frustratingly self-sufficient, has brought her a cup of tea.

“Thank you very much, Claudia,” Angela says, accepting the steaming mug.

“No problem at all, ma’am,” Claudia replies cheerily. “Anything else I can get for you?”

“No, no, this is lovely. Thank you.”

“I just have to tell you, ma’am,” Claudia says, “it’s been an honor to meet you. I’ve always admired you. In fact, you were my inspiration for wanting to join up.”

Angela smiles cordially. “That is lovely to hear. I am so glad my work has made such an impression on you.”

“It really has, ma’am. You’re, like…a legend.”

“Well, I am not sure about that,” Angela says modestly. “But, Claudia, you were called in to assist at Monsieur Doisneau’s flat, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Would you mind telling me about it? I have heard the details from Commander Reyes, but I would be interested to hear your observations of the situation, from a medical perspective.”

“There’s not much to tell, ma’am,” Claudia says. “I didn’t really do anything but tranq him. He was pale and disoriented when I showed up, then he suddenly became extremely agitated, threw a chair, and attacked Agent Lacroix. Then he sort of fell down and started yelling nonsense, and I darted him.”

“Did he appear to become agitated in response to your arrival?”

“I can’t really say for sure, but it seemed like it. Agent Lacroix let me in, and then he told the man that I was a doctor. That was when he went ballistic.”

“How strange. I wonder—”

Angela’s thought is interrupted by a thunderous, cracking boom that shakes the entire building. The lights flicker off and the room is bathed in blackness for a moment, until the emergency lights kick in.

“What the fuck was that?” Claudia gasps, steadying herself on the desk.

“I do not know,” Angela says. “But it sounds as if the building has been hit with an explosive charge.”

“Do you think we’re being attacked?”

Angela cocks her head and listens. “It appears so, yes.” She sets down her cup of tea, then stands and removes her long trench coat, hanging it neatly over her chair. She’s wearing shiny, white body-armor that looks crimson in the red glow of the emergency lights. “Claudia, remain here, in this office until I come back for you. Stay out of sight, understood?”

“But, ma’am, you can’t go out there alone!” Claudia says, lowering her voice to an urgent whisper. “If we’re under attack, you’ll be in—”

“I will be perfectly fine, my dear,” Angela says tranquilly. She pulls something out of a bulky duffel bag at her feet. “Do as I say. I will be back soon.”

Before Claudia can respond, Angela has stepped out the door and vanished down the darkened corridor. Claudia strains her ears to listen, but she can’t hear anything. Then after a moment, she distinguishes some muffled popping sounds. Small-arms fire. Oh god, what if they’re shooting the doctor? What if she’s hurt? She can’t just hide in the basement and allow that to happen. She takes a deep breath, draws her sidearm, and jogs down the hall toward the stairs.

She hurries up the stairwell to the ground floor exit, where she crouches before the heavy steel door, listening. There are a few more gunshots, but they are coming from some distance away. She cautiously cracks the door, leans out to con the area, then slips out, staying crouched. The lobby is dark and the air is filled with dust. It reeks of cordite, like they used to use in fireworks. As she approaches the corner of the archway leading out from the stairwell hall, she can see debris scattered over the marble floor.

She peers out. It looks as if the entire front of the building has been reduced to rubble, leaving a massive, gaping hole to the street outside. Behind the reception desk, she sees a light. Not a lamp, but a strange, wavering, golden glow. It’s Dr. Ziegler. She’s kneeling over something and holding a long, oddly shaped stick from which the glow is emanating. The doctor looks up and sees her. She places a finger to her lips and then beckons. Claudia scans the area, then dashes for the desk, keeping as low and silent as she can.

“Claudia,” Angela says, “I told you to stay put, but perhaps it’s better you came anyway. Agent Lacroix is badly injured.”

Claudia looks down and realizes with horror that the doctor is kneeling over Gérard Lacroix, who is bleeding from a severe wound to the chest.

“I need your help,” Angela says. “I can take care of the attackers, but I need you to do exactly as I say.”

Claudia nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. You see this? Hold it here and keep this trigger pressed,” she hands the staff to Claudia and shows her how to operate it. “This will heal Agent Lacroix, but his wounds are severe, so it will take time and require constant contact. You must keep this on him and not move from this spot, do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Claudia says, holding the staff above Agent Lacroix’s chest in a white-knuckle grip.

Just then, heavy footsteps thunder into the lobby, as a group of armed, masked men storm in through the caved-in front wall. Dr. Ziegler nods to Claudia, then stands and steps up onto the desk. The men begin to shout and level their weapons at her. Claudia stares up in disbelief as the doctor leaps high into the air. The lobby is flooded with brilliant light as huge, fiery, golden wings burst open behind her shoulders. The attackers gape up at her as well, momentarily stunned as what appears to be an angel rises above their heads. Angela hurtles down into their midst. Her feet strike the ground like a meteor, sending men staggering with the impact.

Claudia is unable to allow herself to miss what is happening. Making sure to keep the staff carefully trained on Agent Lacroix, she pokes her head up from behind the desk, just in time to see two men go sailing through the air. Their bodies hit the marble tiles of the far wall with a sickening thud, just as another collides with the desk right in front of Claudia. She watches, dumbstruck, as Dr. Ziegler, shining white like a descended moon amongst her black-clad foes, weaves through the chaos. Faster than humanly possible, she deals a series of rapid, heavy blows and swift, arcing kicks that snap limbs, tossing weapons and men out of the fray in a whirl of magnificent ferocity.

Within the space of about a sixty seconds, nearly twenty men are lying in crumpled heaps about the spacious lobby. One who has survived is attempting to drag himself away through the debris. Dr. Ziegler steps lightly over two bodies and plants her pointed heel behind his knee, pinning his shattered leg to the floor. He gives a horrible, gurgling scream. The doctor lifts her foot and rolls him over with the toe of her boot. She pulls off his mask and tosses it away, as he stares up at her, ashen and trembling with terror.

She smiles sweetly and says, “On a scale of one to ten, how is your pain?”

 

 

Gabe lies awake, gazing dreamily at the ceiling and listening to Jack’s peaceful breathing as he sleeps on his chest. He knows Jack can’t remember being married, nor the years they spent sleeping just like this in their own bed, in the home they lived in together. But for now, this is enough. Jack loves him. His own dear, sweet Jack has come to him at last. He sighs deeply and holds him tighter. Maybe in time, he will begin to remember, but if he doesn’t, Gabe will keep that grief to himself and be content in a love that was strong enough to survive, even when the foundations it was built upon were washed away.

He grunts irritably as the bedroom is suddenly flooded with bright light from the overhead lamps. Jack sits up with a start, blinking and glancing blearily around.

“Commander Morrison,” a pleasant female voice says through the hidden intercom system. “Emergency communication coming in from the Paris bureau. Dr. Ziegler wishes to speak with you.”

“Put her on, Athena,” Jack says groggily, rubbing his eyes. “Angela, are you there?”

“Jack,” Angela’s voice says through the intercom. “The Paris bureau has been attacked. I have the situation under control, but there have been casualties and extensive damage to the building.”

“How many?” Gabe says.

“Gabriel, hello,” Angela says. “Five dead, twelve wounded, including Agent Lacroix, who appears to have been the target of the attack.”

“How bad? Is he ok?” Jack asks.

“He will make a full recovery, thanks to the assistance of Agent Oberkampf, who has been exceedingly brave and helpful in this situation.”

“I’ll see to it she’s recognized for it,” Jack says. “Any other serious injuries among our people?”

“No, only some smoke inhalation and contusions and abrasions, that sort of thing. We have lost power, but the med bay has adequate emergency generators to meet the need.”

“What about the hostiles?” Gabe says.

“Twenty-four dead. One survivor. Both legs broken, but otherwise alert and coherent. I have seen to his injuries and he is awaiting interrogation.”

“I’ll be there with a team in a couple of hours,” Gabe says, hopping out of bed and heading for the bathroom.

“Take Captain Amari and Lieutenant Wilhelm with you,” Jack calls after him. “There needs to be as much official presence as possible.”

“Got it,” Gabe calls back, as the shower switches on.

“Thank god you were there, Angela,” Jack says. “Gérard probably owes you his life.”

“I am simply doing my job, Jack,” she replies, but she sounds pleased, nonetheless. “I will keep you posted, but I must go now. I am the de facto head of the bureau for the moment, and there is much to do.”

“Understood. Thank you, Angela.” The line clicks off, then Jack says, “Athena, see to it that Agent Claudia Oberkampf receives a commendation and a promotion. And issue a bulletin to all staff that they are not to speak with the press regarding the incident.”

“Yes, Commander. Is there anything else?”

“No. Thanks, Athena.”

“My pleasure, Commander,” the AI’s voice says, then the speakers chime, indicating the communication has been terminated.

Jack looks at his phone and smiles ruefully. It’s 0341. They _almost_ spent the whole night together. He gets up and collects Gabe’s clothing from the floor, laying it out on the bed for him. He wishes he could go with him to Paris, but he knows that isn’t the way it works. His job is to be the guiding light and public face of the organization, especially now, when people will be grieving and frightened by the violent attack on their own. Gabe will do the real work, and the press will laud Commander Morrison for his steady leadership, just like always. He feels a deep pang of sympathy for Gabe’s situation. Living in Jack’s shadow, doing the thankless, dirty jobs. Cleaning up the messes behind the scenes while Jack receives all the public recognition. It’s an absurd injustice.

Gabe emerges from the bathroom, drying himself with a fluffy white towel. Before he can begin to dress, Jack flings his arms around him and pulls him into an embrace, breathing deeply and feeling his warm, naked skin against his own.

“Gabe, be careful, ok?” he says. “I just—I can’t lose you now.”

“I’ll be alright, baby,” Gabe grins. “I’m a superhero, remember?”

“Yes, you are. Gabe…I love you.”

“I love you, too, Jack.”

Gabe kisses him again, then gently frees himself and begins to dress. Jack sits on the edge of the bed and watches him.

“Hey, you should talk to Mel as soon as possible,” Gabe says, pulling on his jeans. “She should hear it from you first. That way she won’t get scared half out of her mind by some wild rumor and think Gérard is dead or something.”

“Yeah, I’ll wait till after you go, though,” Jack says. “Otherwise I don’t think it’ll be possible to convince her to stay behind. Speaking of which, we need to bring him here, too, until we have a better understanding of what’s going on.”

“He won’t want to come. It was his house and his people they went after. He’ll want to stay on the front lines and take them on.”

“The best way he can do that is by staying alive and running counterintelligence here. Especially if Angela has reason to believe he was specifically targeted.”

“I know. I’ll explain that to him.” Gabe says, sitting down to lace up his boots.

Jack shakes his head. “I don’t know who these Talon people are, but they’ve picked one hell of a fight.”

“I’ll say. It takes a lot of balls or a lot of insanity to attack Overwatch.”

“Either way, they’re going to regret it,” Jack says grimly, his blue eyes flashing. “What? What’s that grin for?”

“I like it when you get all serious and tough,” Gabe says. “It’s sexy.”

“Oh yeah?” Jack laughs as Gabe pushes him down on his back to kiss him. “Cut that out! You have to get going!”

“I know. I’ll be in touch. And I’ll see you soon.” Gabe kisses him once more, then pulls himself reluctantly away to depart. Just as he steps out of Jack’s bedroom, he calls back, “Oh, hey, I’m taking Jesse. Bye, baby!”

“Gabe, god damn it!” Jack shouts after him, but the front door has already closed behind him.

 

Gabe heads directly to Agent McCree’s room on the floor below, and pounds heavily on the door. He hears a brief scuffle, then Jesse opens the door, blinking and disoriented, and in his underwear.

“Boss? What time is it? Aw, shit! I ain’t late for work, am I?”

“It’s 0400,” Gabe says gruffly. “Get dressed and grab your combat gear. Meet me at Helipad Delta. We’re leaving in fifteen minutes.”

In his bewildered, half-asleep state, it strikes Jesse as not unthinkable that the Commander is taking him somewhere to kill him. Gabe turns to go, but Jesse stops him.

“Hey, boss,” he says warily, “uh…where we goin’?”

“Paris. The bureau was attacked.”

The seriousness of the actual situation snaps Jesse’s muddled mind into instant alertness. “Got, it,” he says. “See you in fifteen, boss.”

Gabe arrives at the helipad to find Captain Amari and Lieutenant Wilhelm carrying their gear into the TAAV, which is already powered up and waiting. The loadmaster brings Gabe the manifest to check and sign as the rest of the crew arrive and board, followed very shortly by Jesse, who has gotten himself armed and outfitted in record-breaking time. They make the final pre-flight checks, strap into their seats, and the TAAV leaps into the early-morning haze, bound for Paris.

Gabe glances at Jesse, who is doing his level best to appear at ease, and failing comically. He smiles to himself. This fuckin’ kid. He should let him off the hook, but after the move he pulled…well, he does deserve a little fucking with for that. He turns his head to say something, but he stops and his hand flies up to his collarbone. The chain with Jack’s ring. It isn’t there. That’s right, he stuffed it into his pocket last night. He pushes his fingers as far down into his pocket as they will go. Nothing. He tries the other. Then he unfastens his seat belt and stands up. He searches both front pockets, both back pockets, and his jacket pockets. He sits back down and straps in, sick to his stomach with anxiety. The ring must have fallen out of his pocket in Jack’s room. If Jack finds it…he shudders. He can’t even allow himself to think what may happen.

“Hey, boss, you alright?” Jesse asks. “You lose somethin’?”

“What? Oh, Jesse. No, I’m fine. Just looking for my lighter.”

“I got you covered, boss,” Jesse grins, patting his trousers pocket. “I always carry a spare.”

“Thanks, Jesse,” Gabe says, more curtly than he’d intended.

He leans back in his seat and closes his eyes. He has to figure out how to stop Jack from finding that ring.

 

 

Jack stands under the steaming water in his shower, mentally categorizing and prioritizing his tasks for the day. First thing, speak to Amélie. Explain that Gérard is safe and well, and that he will be here today or tomorrow. Next, address the attack internally. The Overwatch staff need to be informed about what has happened by their Commander, before the news media wildly misreports it, and their perception of the event becomes distorted. Also, they need to know what they are required to say, should the press approach them. Next, speak with the Paris authorities. Agree to share between Overwatch and the Police National, any pertinent information that may lead to the apprehension of members of this terrorist organization.

He wipes the steam from the mirror and looks at himself. He needs to shave. He gets out his razor and shaving cream. After the Paris authorities, hmm…what is on his agenda today? A lot of things are going to have to be cancelled and rescheduled. He thinks about which items can afford to be pushed off the docket as he shaves. He rinses his face, then his razor, and puts it away. He runs his bath towel over the counter, then throws it in the hamper.

He remembers Gabe’s towel, still lying on the floor beside his bed. Gabe. He smiles to himself as he goes to retrieve it. He loves Gabe. And Gabe loves him. It’s so strange how all that doubt and misunderstanding and distance between them seems to have simply evaporated. When they woke up together, it felt so easy and…right. As if they’d been doing it for years and years.

He picks up Gabe’s damp towel from the carpet and turns back toward the bedroom door, but something catches his eye. Just beneath the bed, almost entirely obscured in its shadow, there’s a little glint, like from something metal. He bends down to pick it up. It’s a thin, silver chain. He tugs, but the minuscule links have become enmeshed in the thick pile of the carpet. He pulls on it a little harder. He curses under his breath as the delicate chain snaps.

He pulls out the broken strand and drops it into his palm. No one wears a necklace this plain without a pendant. He gets down on all fours and slides his hand along the carpet under the bed. His fingertips light on something cold, hard, and circular. It’s a ring. This must be the same chain and ring he’d seen Gabe wearing in his room that time. He sits on the edge of his bed, turning it in his fingers. It’s a simple, platinum band, very heavy for its size. There’s something engraved on the inside. He holds it up to the light to examine the tiny, laser-etched script. His heart stops. Time stops. The engraving on the inside of the ring reads:

_Gabriel & Jack ~ October 8th 2017_

 

 


	69. Sick

The Strike-Commander’s face is pale and grave as he steps up to the podium to address the press conference. Dark circles are discernible below his normally keen and alert blue eyes. Many of the journalists present will note in their columns that he was “visibly shaken by the loss” and how he “obviously cares deeply for all his people.” He lays his hands on the lectern and stands silently gazing out over the crowd. Cameras keep flashing.

“Early this morning,” he begins, “our Paris bureau was…attacked by…”

He stops and looks down at his notes for a moment. Then he crumbles the paper and stuffs it into the pocket of his blue jacket. Some of the reporters begin to mutter and look at each other questioningly. Silence falls as he speaks again.

“We…are sick,” the Commander says, in his deep, rough-edged voice. “We—the world, society—are sick. The disease is hate. Hate for Omnics. Hate for our fellow man. Hate for those who are different from us. The act of violence perpetrated against our friends at the Paris Overwatch bureau, by a dishonorable and cowardly terrorist group, is a symptom of this disease of hate.”

His jaw sets and his blue eyes spark to life.

“I say dishonorable and cowardly because that is just what these terrorists are. They didn’t come to a military stronghold to face declared opponents on equal ground in broad daylight. They came masked and under cover of night, to strike an office building where administrative work is done by unarmed civilians. This group of violent thugs, too cowardly to show their faces, murdered our friends and colleagues in cold blood. They killed secretaries and accountants and data analysts and computer programmers. People like you. People who kissed their families goodbye, drove to work, and went to their desks to do their jobs, just like they do every day. Just like you and your husbands and wives and coworkers do every day.”

He furrows his brow and leans forward ever so slightly, adding an air of earnestness and personal engagement to his entire aspect.

“And when they attacked us, they attacked you. By striking out at the people you rely upon to protect you, they intended to sow hate and fear in your hearts and minds. To make you feel unsafe and in your homes and workplaces. To tear us apart piece by piece and isolate us from one another until we are too afraid to step out our own front doors.”

He pauses and looks out on the crowd again, allowing his eyes to light on several faces as his gaze passes over them. His stern expression softens somewhat.

“But they have failed. I know they have failed because when I look around this room, I don’t see fear. I don’t see hate. I see courage. When I think of every single one of you who heard the news this morning and who, in spite of it all, went boldly out to carry on with your lives and do your duty, I am…humbled.”

He waits a beat. Takes a breath.

“I am humbled by the simple, indomitable courage of ordinary people who refuse to be bullied into submission by a gang of vicious thugs. When you refuse to be afraid, you show these masked cowards how strong you are. How strong we are together. You, the free people of the world, and us, whose honor and privilege it is to safeguard your freedom. We will find these criminals and we will bring them to justice. Not because we hate them or to get revenge, but because they have broken the law. They have trespassed upon the sacred trust that holds us all together, and committed an act of senseless violence against innocent people.”

He shakes his head, placing his hands flat on the lectern before him.

“But terrorist organizations like these are only a symptom of the disease of hate. When a body is sick with a disease, treating the symptoms may make it feel better for a while, may make the pain easier to bear, but unless the disease itself is treated, the body will continue to grow sicker until it eventually dies.”

He levels the heavy artillery of those stunning eyes at his listeners for his peroration. His voice gathers strength.

“We cannot allow this disease of hatred to continue to fester and grow until it consumes us. We cannot continue to give terrorists and criminal organizations and hate groups any place to hide among us. We must make a decision within ourselves and together, to root out hatred, to confront it, to refuse to allow it to live in our hearts or in our communities. It is only then, when we have rejected hatred and fear, and all the free people of world, human and Omnic alike, stand united in understanding and acceptance, that we will truly have peace.”

His “thank you” is drowned out by applause. He strides out of the press room, amid a barrage of flash-bulbs and a clamor of voices shouting questions after him. He nods to his press secretary, who goes out to take questions from the reporters, then he takes a back hallway to an elevator, which conveys him up to his office.

“Sir, that speech was—it was just fantastic,” Lieutenant Beckett says, as he enters the reception area. “Really outstanding.”

“Thanks, Beckett,” he says. “Hold my calls, would you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Jack closes and locks his office door, takes two stumbling steps, then falls on his hands and knees in front of a waste bin and vomits till he sees stars. He rolls onto his back on the floor, ash-white and quaking from head to toe. His lips move, mouthing something inaudible as he stares uncomprehendingly at the ceiling.

 

 

The TAAV lands on the street outside Paris HQ. The entire block has been cordoned off, and Gabe’s Blackwatch assault squad, led by Captain Amari and Lieutenant Wilhelm, take over security from the Paris agents to allow them to assist in the packing up. The building has been deemed safe enough for occupation while the employees remove their equipment and belongings, but because of the extent of the damage, its structural soundness must be more fully assessed before repairs begin. A pretty, dark-haired young woman Gabe recognizes as Agent Oberkampf meets them outside. He and Jesse follow her toward a side entrance as she gives a brief rundown of the situation. Jesse glances back at the rubble of the bombed-out lobby, before which two-dozen black body bags are lined up in a neat row.

“The morgue isn’t large enough to handle the remains of the hostiles all at once,” she explains. “Our own people have been prioritized, obviously, so we did what we could with them for the moment.”

She leads them up two flights of stairs into the med bay, which is bustling with activity, as people pack up for the temporary relocation. Angela is at the nurses’ station, giving directions to a young man holding a tablet. He hurries off as she greets them.

“Gabriel, hello,” she says, raising an eyebrow at Jesse’s presence. “Agent Lacroix is in exam room one and the hostile is in exam room four. Would you like to speak with Agent Lacroix first?”

“Yeah, take me to him,” Gabe says. He turns to follow Angela down the hall. “Jesse, wait out here, but don’t run off.”

“Yes, sir,” Jesse says. He stands awkwardly by the triage desk, uncertain what to do with himself.

“You’re Jesse McCree, right?” Agent Oberkampf says, smiling up at the tall, handsome young man.

“Yes, ma’am, that’s right,” Jesse says, returning the smile. 

“I’ve heard a lot about you! They say you’re the best sharpshooter Overwatch has ever had. Maybe even better than Captain Amari.”

“Well, I dunno about that,” Jesse grins. “But I can hit the broad side of a barn if I’m lucky.”

“No need to be modest, Agent McCree. I’ve seen your marksmanship records.”

“Just Jesse, please,” he says, holding out his hand. “I didn’t know I was so famous around here.”

“Claudia,” the young woman says, shaking Jesse’s hand heartily. “And yes, you are. I don’t think we’ve ever had a seventeen-year-old agent before, let alone one as talented as you.”

“I ain’t seventeen no more,” Jesse laughs. “How old are you, miss Claudia? You can’t be much older’n me.”

“I’m twenty-five.”

“Shoot, you’re just a young’un, yourself. Say, would you mind tellin’ me what happened here? The boss come and drug me outta bed and didn’t explain nothin’ except y’all got attacked.”

Jesse listens with increasing interest as Claudia describes the events of the past couple of days, beginning with the incident at Mr. Doisneau’s flat and winding up with a vivid recounting of Dr. Ziegler’s fight with the masked attackers.

He whistles through his teeth. “That’d be somethin’ to see. I never had the doc pegged for a brawler. She’s so sweet and gentle most times.”

“All I know is that I definitely plan to stay on her good side,” Claudia says. “She was an absolute demon. Watching her take on those men, it was like watching a—”

“Like a superhero?” Jesse breaks in. “Yeah, seems to be a lot of that goin’ around. Kinda makes you wonder what they need regular folks like you’n me for.”

“I’m just happy to be on the team, really. Dr. Ziegler has been my hero since I was a kid.”

“Funny thing, that,” Jesse mutters. “Meetin’ your heroes in person.”

“What’s that?”

“Oh, nothin’. You wouldn’t happen to know where a fella could get a cup of coffee around here, would you? I’m just about dead on my feet.”

“Sure,” Claudia smiles. “There’s a coffeemaker and mugs right over here. I’m personally seeing to it that these get packed up last. We need as much access to coffee as possible. So, what’s it like working for Commander Reyes?”

“Dangerous.” Jesse winks as he picks up a coffee cup with his prosthetic hand.

“Wow,” Claudia breathes, unable to conceal her enthusiasm. “That’s a hell of a prosthesis—oh, I’m sorry! That was so rude. I did my residency in cybernetics and neural prosthetics, so I can’t help but get excited when I see a really good one.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jesse says affably. He sets the mug back down and extends his hand to her. “You like my robot arm? Go ahead and take a look.”

“This is just…wow.” She holds his hand, turning it over and inspecting it closely from the fingertips to the elbow joint. “Who did your nerve splicing?”

“Dr. Ziegler stuck all them gizmos in there, if that’s what you mean.”

“Yeah that’s what I mean,” Claudia laughs. “I should’ve known it was her work. It’s very well done. How is the sensation and motor control?”

“It’s pretty good, I guess. I’m fixin’ to get a better one soon, though. Supposed to look like a real arm and all that.”

Jesse looks up as he hears Commander Reyes call his name. He’s standing beside the triage desk, beckoning them over.

“Jesse, Oberkampf,” he says, in a low voice, “Angela is going to escort Agent Lacroix back to Swiss HQ now. I need you two to help him gather his hard-copy files and anything else he needs, and get it loaded into the TAAV. Come right back when you’re done. I’ll be taking over command here while we get everyone moved out, and I need both of you to be on point.”

“Yes, sir,” the two young agents reply eagerly.

“Alright, get moving. I’m going to interrogate the hostile.” He watches them trot off down the hall toward Gérard’s room, then he turns the opposite corner toward exam room four.

 

Jesse and Claudia find Agent Lacroix alert and energetic, which he effusively attributes to the selfless intervention of Angela and Claudia in his perilous situation. Angela insists all of the praise belongs to her young assistant, which makes Claudia beam and blush prettily under Jesse’s admiring eye. Agent Lacroix goes with them to collect his things and carry them down to the TAAV. When they head back upstairs, the holovid screen is on and the staff are gathered around watching Strike-Commander Morrison’s press conference.

“…I say dishonorable and cowardly because that is just what these terrorists are,” Commander Morrison is saying through the television’s speakers.

Claudia leans over to Jesse. “He’s pretty intense, huh?” she whispers, keeping her eyes on the screen.

“Yeah, he is,” Jesse says. “He’s different when there ain’t a lot of folks around, though.”

“You work with Commander Morrison directly, too?”

“Not usually. Just for the past week while Commander Reyes was here takin’ care of some things. It was mostly typin’ memos and sittin’ in meetings tryina stay awake.”

“I’d type memos all day if I could work with the Strike-Commander. What’s he like?”

“He…he ain’t like anyone else I ever met,” Jesse sighs. Claudia looks up at him curiously. He flushes with embarrassment and quickly backpedals. “I mean he’s a good man. We’re lucky to have a boss like him, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Claudia smiles. “I know what you mean.”

 

In exam room four, Gabe finds the surviving attacker lying on a gurney, strapped in at the arms. The lower restraints have been left off, since his legs are broken and he certainly isn’t any kind of escape risk. Gabe knows the moment he lays eyes on the man that he is no nanite-programmed assassin, like Germain had been. This man is a merc, plain and simple. He can’t help but feel a bit disappointed, but perhaps it’s better not to test himself against another of Germain’s kind until he is more prepared.

He takes a seat in the chair by the desk and looks the young man over. “What’s your name, son?”

“Johannes Botha, sir,” the man says. He glances about and shifts nervously in his restraints.

“Alright, Mr. Botha,” Gabe says, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. “We can do this the easy way—”

“Please, sir,” Botha interrupts. “I—I will talk.”

The interrogation proceeds exactly as Gabe expects, with Botha readily telling everything he knows about the job for which he was contracted and his employer. Just as Gabe has also expected, this amounts to very little. Botha says he is twenty-two years old and comes from Pretoria, South Africa. He has been working as a mercenary soldier on a contract basis since he was sixteen. Recently, he found steady employment with a Nigerian PMC called Ikunku International Security.

The most useful piece of information Gabe is able to gather from the interview is that the Ikunku company was hired through a third party, of whom Botha doesn’t know anything at all. Not even the client’s name. He also claims he had no knowledge that the organization they were hired to attack was Overwatch, and that he and his fellow mercenaries were led to believe that the building they assaulted belonged to another PMC that had been disrupting the business of whoever hired them for the job.

Botha’s DNA scan confirms his identity and Gabe is inclined to believe his story. The higher-ups in extra-legal organizations like this don’t regularly share anything more than is absolutely necessary with the grunts. More than that, Gabe knows a liar when he sees one and Botha is not a liar, at least. After a tedious hour or so, he brings the interview to a close, satisfied that he has learned all the man has to tell.

“Sir,” Botha says apprehensively, as Gabe rises to go. “What will happen to me now?”

“You are going to prison, Mr. Botha,” Gabe replies coldly.

He turns toward the door, but then he hesitates. He has no reason to feel any specific sympathy for a mercenary soldier who was involved in an attack that left five civilian employees of Overwatch dead. In spite of himself, however, he finds his wrath softened by the man’s youth and obvious distress at his dismal situation.

“I believe you didn’t know who you were attacking,” he says, turning back for a moment. “That may have some sway in your favor. But if I were you, I’d plan on a long stay.”

“Will…will I be allowed to contact my mother?” Botha says, almost in tears. “She will think I have been killed. It will break her heart, sir.”

“You should have thought of that when you chose your occupation, Mr. Botha,” Gabe says gruffly. “But I’ll see to it you are permitted to communicate with her before your arraignment.”

Then he exits the room quickly, shutting the door behind him. Jesse and Claudia are waiting by the nurses’ station, chatting quietly together about Commander Morrison’s speech.

“Oberkampf,” Gabe says, as he approaches. “Run down and find Captain Amari. Tell her I want a guard on exam room four immediately. And get someone to help Mr. Botha make a phone call to his mother.”

“Yes, Commander,” Claudia says briskly. She salutes and jogs off to carry out his orders.

“Jesse, get a hold of intel and have them run me a full background on a Nigerian PMC called Ikunku International Security. Let me know what they find out.”

“Got it, boss,” Jesse says. He pulls out his phone. “Where you goin’?”

“The roof. I need a cigarette and I have to call Jack before I decide what to do next.”

“You want a lighter?”

“No, thanks,” Gabe says, walking away toward the stairs. “I’ve got one.”

“Oh…alright,” Jesse says. He calls up the contact for Blackwatch Intel and presses his phone to his ear, watching with an odd expression on his face as Gabe passes down the hall toward the stairwell door. He saw the Commander rifle all his pockets back on the TAAV and not find his lighter. Maybe the old man’s gettin’ absent-minded. He sure is actin’ strange today, whatever it is. Logic would suggest that the reason for his odd behavior has something to do with Jesse kissing his…whatever they are to each other. But Jesse wonders if this is actually the reason. The boss hasn’t been spiteful or seemed angry, just distracted and tense.

The intel operator picks up and Jesse relays Commander Reyes’ order for a workup on the Ikunku company, instructing the woman to call him back as soon as they’ve got it. He hesitates for a moment, then follows after the Commander up the stairs to the roof. He finds Gabe with a cigarette in his mouth, cursing under his breath and angrily tapping his phone screen.

“Hey, boss,” Jesse says, approaching cautiously. “I got a hold of intel. They’ll call me back in a little bit with the workup. You talk to Commander Morrison?”

“No,” Gabe says irritably. “He isn’t answering his phone.”

“You, uh…try his office?”

“Jesse, for fuck’s—of course I did. Beckett’s not answering either. I got her away from desk message.”

“Oh,” Jesse says, not knowing what else to say. He stands there fidgeting uneasily with his hands.

“There something else you need?” Gabe asks, exhaling a thick, white cloud of smoke.

“No, sir. I was just thinkin’—”

“Hold that thought,” Gabe says, as his phone chirps in his hand. He scowls at the screen, then answers. “Angela, what’s up?”

“Gabriel,” Angela’s voice comes back. “What have you done.”

He sighs impatiently. “Just tell me what you’re talking about, please. I am not in the mood to guess.”

“What did you say to Jack?”

Gabe’s face drains of color. “To Jack…what do you mean? What’s wrong?”

“He is very unwell. I have sedated him and placed him in a secure room in the med bay. He is physically stable, but his psychological state is…” she pauses. “I fear he has suffered a psychotic break.”

“Why did you—a psychotic break?”

“Gabriel,” she says. “He is wearing his wedding ring.”

“Wearing…his ring,” Gabe repeats numbly, as if in a trance.

“You must return immediately. Captain Amari is perfectly capable of overseeing the remainder of the transition. I have dispatched a TAAV to retrieve you and Jesse, who has not been cleared for off-post assignments yet, and should not have been brought there anyway. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“Good. I will see you in a few hours.”

The line goes dead. He mechanically replaces his phone in his pocket, staring blankly into the middle distance. The worst has happened. One night of fleeting happiness, and now this. The sum of all his fears. After years of patience and suffering, waiting and hoping for Jack to remember, a single careless mistake has destroyed it all. His body gives way beneath the weight of the crushing blow. He staggers. Jesse’s arms are already around him, breaking his fall as they both sit down hard on the ground.

“Whoa there, jefe,” Jesse says. “You alright?”

“Go away, Jesse,” Gabe growls. He makes a feeble attempt to shake the boy off, but Jesse won’t be deterred.

“Not a chance, you old asshole,” Jesse retorts, tightening his arms about the larger man’s shoulders. “You ain’t gettin’ rid of me, so you best get talkin’.”

“Jesse…” Gabe says warningly.

“Nope. Tell me what’s goin’ on. I heard you say Jack. Is somethin’ the matter with him?”

Hearing Jesse pronounce Jack’s name so casually after what has recently occurred between them makes Gabe’s blood boil.

“He is sick,” he says tersely. “Angela is sending a TAAV to fly us back to HQ. Now take your hands off me or you’re going to have two prosthetic arms.”

“Suit yourself,” Jesse says, releasing his hold on Gabe. He remains seated beside him and pulls out a cigarette, eyeing him defiantly as he lights it. “But I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“Pendejo,” Gabe grumbles. He plucks the cigarette from Jesse’s mouth and draws on it. “I ought to fucking kill you, you know.”

“Yeah, but if you was gonna, I figure I’d be dead already,” Jesse says, lighting another cigarette. “So, he told you, then?”

“He did.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me y’all had history?”

“It was none of your fucking business.”

“Well, it is now. Woulda saved us all some trouble if I’d known before.”

“Jesse, how could I have ever imagined that something would happen between you two? Jack is far, far older than you and he’s one of the most powerful men in the world, not to mention, he’s your boss’s boss.”

“That shit don’t really matter,” Jesse says. He rolls his cigarette back and forth between his prosthetic fingers. “Underneath all them titles and uniforms and things, he’s just a man, same as you and me.”

“Not exactly the same as me.”

“Maybe not,” Jesse shrugs, not quite understanding the remark. “But if you never thought him doin’ somethin’ like that was at least possible, maybe you ain’t been payin’ attention.”

“I haven’t been…paying attention?” Gabe says, incredulous at the boy’s boldness. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I ain’t sayin’ it was your fault,” Jesse says. “But you gotta see this life ain’t easy on him. It ain’t easy on me, neither. The lonesomeness gets to achin’ so bad, sometimes it’s all I can feel. I could see plain as day he was lonely and hurtin’ just like I was. I figured we might help each other feel somethin’ else for a little while. Only I didn’t know he was hurtin’ over you.” He pauses and takes a long drag from his cigarette, then he points the glowing ember at Gabe. “But you shoulda known it.”

Gabe shakes his head. “It’s not that simple. Things have been fucked up between us for so long…I just can’t understand what’s going on in his head anymore.”

“Fucked up how?”

“Jesse…Jack is my husband.”

Jesse’s cigarette drops out of his open mouth. “Fuck’s sake, boss!” he exclaims, snatching it up and swatting at his lap where it has burned his trouser leg. “You might wanna build up to somethin’ like that ‘fore you spit it out at a fella. The Commander’s your husband?”

“He is.”

“But…if y’all are married…why did he—”

“He doesn’t remember.” Gabe rubs his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Jack has…a form of dissociative amnesia. He doesn’t remember a lot of things. Anything, in fact, directly connected with his trauma. Which includes our marriage and most of our lives together.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jesse whispers. “That’s…I’m real sorry, boss. I had no idea.”

“Almost no one does. It’s impossible for people to tell, since they didn’t know us back then and he functions normally otherwise.”

“The reason he’s sick right now, is that on account of the amnesia?”

“Yeah.”

“But that means the doc knows, then, don’t it.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re too sharp for your own good, mijo?” Gabe says, raising an eyebrow. “Yes. She knows.”

“I ain’t surprised,” Jesse says musingly. “You ever get the feelin’ she knows a sight more’n she lets on about a whole mess of things?”

“All the time,” Gabe says, with a mirthless laugh. “She always did.”

They sit smoking in silence for a moment, then Jesse lays a comforting hand on Gabe’s arm. “Look here, boss. Jack may not remember you bein’ hitched, but he loves you anyhow. He told me you was his real, true love. And…I don’t know if it matters, but I really am sorry about tryina get cozy with your husband. I never woulda, only I didn’t know.”

“I know, Jesse,” Gabe says. “But please stop calling Commander Morrison ‘Jack’, would you? It’s…too weird for me.”

“Naw, you don’t get me. I ain’t talkin’ about the Commander. How can I explain what I mean…” He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “It’s like this. He’s like two people. There’s the Strike-Commander, and then there’s the other man. The one that’s deep down in there somewheres, but you can only see a little shinin’ through now and again. That’s Jack.”

Gabe stares at his young friend, stunned to silence by the keenness of his observation. He has described Jack’s condition to himself this way a thousand times, but for Jesse to have seen it too…

“I didn’t mean no offense or nothin’, boss,” Jesse says sheepishly, misunderstanding Gabe’s expression. “That’s just my take on it.”

Before Jesse can comprehend what is happening, he is caught in Gabe’s powerful arms. His heart seizes with momentary panic as he feels himself being drawn in and compressed in the iron grasp of his terrifying Commander. It dawns on him that he is being embraced.

“Aw, thanks boss.” He laughs uneasily and pats Gabe’s back. “C’mon now, it’s gonna be ok. I know it will.”

“I wish I knew it,” Gabe says, drawing away. “Jack’s mind is…different from other people’s. He had some similar issues with his memory in the past, but after Angela—” he stops himself. This is far more than Jesse needs to know. “Anyway, we should go in. I have to brief Captain Amari on the situation before we go.”

“Yes, sir,” Jesse says, rising to his feet. “Say, boss, what do you think of Agent Oberkampf?”

“I don’t know,” Gabe says. “She seems pretty solid. Why do you ask?”

“I was thinkin’, you know how you was sayin’ we should get some of our own medics for Blackwatch so’s we ain’t gotta borrow ‘em from the blue squad when we go out on jobs?”

“I think I remember mentioning something like that.”

“Well, what about we bring her on?”

Gabe balks. “I don’t know about that, Jesse…”

“But hear me out, though,” Jesse insists. “I mean, everyone here’s gettin’ sent all over till they get a new place. Why shouldn’t she come work with us? Like on a trial basis, y’know? See if she’s the right fit and all. She’s a trained combat medic, we know she can keep her head on straight under pressure, and to top it off, she’s some kinda expert in prosthetics, so she could fix me right up if my robot parts get busted.”

“I’ll think about it,” Gabe laughs. “But don’t say anything to her yet, ok? I don’t even know if they’d be willing to let her go.”

“Got it,” Jesse grins, confident that his point has been won. “I won’t say nothin’ till we’re sure.”

 


	70. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: No protection is used. It should go without saying at this point, but just to be clear, this takes place far in the future when sexually transmitted diseases have been eradicated by medical science.

The moon rises white and round in the night sky over the snow-cloaked summit of Mahalangur Himal. Tekhartha Zenyatta gazes out into the vastness before him, over the pristine mountain peaks biting into the blackness above like massive, white fangs. Hungchhi, Pumori, Sagarmatha (Everest, to westerners), Lhotse, Makalu… He smiles internally—his metallic face is not capable of forming such an expression—as he recites the names given to these timeless towers of stone by the brief and fragile creatures who walk a few days upon this earth and presume to call it their own. He senses Master Mondatta approaching, and turns to bow his greeting.

“They are beautiful, are they not?” Master Mondatta says, following his companion’s gaze out over the mountain range. “They endure so long and change so little.”

“Indeed, they are, Master,” Zenyatta replies. “But one day even they must change. For whatever has the nature of arising has the nature of ceasing.”

Mondatta laughs softly. “It is fortunate for you and me that we will cease long before they do. Are you prepared for your journey?”

“I am prepared, Master. The transport is due to arrive within the hour.”

“I wish you well in your errand. But your path may be a difficult one. Even among our friends at Overwatch, there will be some who do not wish to accept you.”

“I must work to change their minds, Master,” Zenyatta says, with something almost akin to a note of impatience in his smooth, modulated voice. “How can they learn acceptance if there is none to teach them?”

“My brother,” Mondatta replies mildly. “I know your mind in this matter. I do not seek to deter you, only to bid you take care. Bear always in mind the lessons you have learned, and meditate often, lest the noise of the world disrupt your inner balance. As the Buddha said, ‘If a man going down into a river, swollen and swiftly flowing, is carried away by the current—how can he help others across?’”

“I know only that I must try. Should the current carry me away…such is the nature of things.”

“You are correct to do as your heart dictates, Zenyatta. You must excuse an old friend for being reluctant to part with one for whom he has much fondness.”

“I understand, Master. Thank you.”

“Before you go, I must speak to you of something that it may be well for you to consider.”

“What is it, Master?”

“The Commander,” Mondatta says slowly, “while he genuinely intends friendship toward us, is a man torn in his spirit. I have sensed a deep well of pain and rage within him. This darkness sleeps for now, but he has not mastered it, only hidden it. From himself, as well as others. If the darkness should wake, it may consume him. If it consumes him, the world will feel the fire of his wrath.”

“This is very grave, Master. Our friend Gabriel Reyes—”

“Ah, you mistake me,” Mondatta says. “I do not speak of Commander Reyes. His darkness is all quite apparent on the surface. He is much more master of it than he knows, in fact. No, I speak of Commander Morrison.”

“But, Master,” Zenyatta replies apprehensively. “If the leader of Overwatch is in such a perilous condition, is it wise to place so much of our people’s safety in his hands?”

“I do not know,” Mondatta sighs. “But I hope that it is. He is a good man. He may conquer his darkness and become a great man. If he can do that, he will be an unequaled force for good in this world.” He lays a metallic hand on his companion’s shoulder. “And it may be that your presence will assist in guiding him toward the light. One alone may still turn a great tide.”

They turn to look over the monastery gate, hearing the airborne transport from Overwatch approaching in the distance. They watch as the glittering steel beast soars into view and begins its descent toward Tengboche.

“None can know what tomorrow will bring,” Zenyatta says, casting his eyes once more on his beloved mountain home. “But I will do my best.”

“That is all any of us can do,” Mondatta says, with a smile in his voice. “But I place more faith in your best than that of most others. Farewell, my brother. May we meet again soon.”

 

 

“Gabriel, listen to me,” Angela says sternly. She is standing before Gabe, barring the door to Jack’s room in the med bay. “You must come talk with me before I allow you in to see him. He is under heavy sedation. He will not be aware of your presence until it is removed, anyway.”

“You can’t keep me from seeing him,” Gabe snarls, drawing glances from several nurses nearby. “Get out of my way.”

“I am the Commander’s physician, Gabriel,” Angela snaps. “I absolutely can keep you from seeing him until I say it is medically appropriate. Stop behaving like a child and come with me.”

Gabe fumes, but there’s no winning a battle of wills with Angela on her own turf, so he follows her down the hall. She leads him into an empty room and closes the door. Gabe flings himself into a chair and sits glowering darkly up at her.

“How did Jack get his wedding ring, Gabriel?” she says, putting her hands on her hips.

“An accident. A stupid, careless accident. I had it in my pocket and it must’ve fallen out while I was dressing.”

“You did not give it to him intentionally? Or say anything about your past together to him?”

“Of fucking course I didn’t,” he growls. “What the fuck do you think of me?”

Her severe expression softens somewhat as she studies his face. “Well, I suppose things could have been worse. But it was foolish of you to have it on your person when you were going to spend the night with him.” Gabe moves as if to stand, but she stops him. “There is still something we must discuss before I let you speak to Jack,” she says. She steeples her fingers and appears to be hesitating.

He crosses his arms impatiently. “Well?”

“I have not been entirely forthright with you concerning the reasons for his dissociative state.”

“Imagine that,” Gabe mutters.

She ignores the remark and continues. “I have told you that his trauma caused him to become too incapacitated to function as a soldier any longer. That is true. But it is not the whole truth. When he learned that the invading Omnic forces had killed his family, his mental anguish was such that for several days, he did not leave his room at all. Then, without speaking to anyone about it, he simply returned to command. The government was in no position to lose SEP commanders, so his decision was not questioned. For a little while, he seemed to be functioning in the way he does when in distress. He was efficient, mechanical, and totally emotionless. However, when he went back into combat, he was…unrecognizable. Vicious. Bloodthirsty and ruthless in a way I had never thought was possible for him.

I was with him in Detroit at the time, and he and his unit and tore through the squads of attacking Omnics as if they were tissue paper. But he could not stop. His pain had become an uncontrollable rage, like a wild beast when it is wounded. A group of unarmed, non-hostile Omnics had taken refuge in an abandoned building nearby. Jack stumbled upon them there during a firefight. He destroyed every single one of them and left their bodies where they fell. One hundred and fifty, to be specific.”

“I don’t understand,” Gabe says hoarsely. “This—this can’t be true.”

“I know it is difficult to hear, but it is true.”

“Angela…you’re talking about a war crime.”

“Jack is a war criminal, Gabriel—or he would be, had Thomas not intervened and caused the incident to be covered up—but he was no more responsible for his actions than a bullet is responsible for the damage it causes when fired from a gun.”

“Covered up how?”

“The scene was altered in such a way as to suggest the hostile Omnics had destroyed them in the battle. The reports went through Thomas, and no inquiry was ever pursued.”

“And then what?”

“And then Jack came to his senses and was made to understand what he had done. It was too much for him to bear. He begged me to help him. To prevent him from doing something like that ever again. He said he would prefer to end his life, rather than live with the pain of the loss of his family and the guilt over what he had done. I refused. I explained to him what the consequences might be if I were to interfere with his mind that way. But when he…” her voice falters and she clears her throat to conceal it. “When he attempted to…to take his own life, I had no choice.”

“Jesus Christ,” Gabe gasps. He grips the exam table to steady himself as the room around him seems to spin. “Jesus Christ. He tried to—how could you keep this from me? Why didn’t you contact me? I could’ve come to him. I could’ve—”

“He would not allow it. I pleaded with him to speak to you, but he would not do it. He did not want you to know.”

“How did…how did he do it?”

“No,” she says firmly, shaking her head. “I will not tell you how. It will only torment you. He may tell you in his own time, but I will not.”

“What about now? Do you think he would…try again?”

“I do not know. I cannot say with any certainty what his mental state will be when he wakes up. He may have regained all of his memory, or only parts of it. His mind may be a confusion of past and present that he cannot disentangle. I simply do not know. That is why it was imperative that you be here. He will need you to anchor him in reality, if he is able to comprehend it at all.”

“There must be a way to help him,” Gabe says, searching her face for some hint of hope. “There must be something you can do for him.”

“There is nothing I can do until I know more about his state of mind.”

“When will he wake up?”

“His genetic augmentations make keeping him sedated very difficult. As soon as the intravenous drip is removed, he will begin to regain consciousness.”

Gabe leans forward with his elbows on his knees, rocking anxiously and massaging his temples with his fingertips. He feels Angela’s hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t shake her off. He needs the simple comfort of a human touch so badly, and hers has always had a strange ability to pacify him.

“Oh, Gabriel,” she sighs. She moves her hand up to stroke his hair. He permits this as well. “I know how much you love him. I am truly sorry for what you have been through. It has been so painful for me to see you suffer like this.”

“You don’t know anything about it,” Gabe says gruffly, but he still doesn’t pull away. “How can you pretend to know how I feel? You aren’t even capable of love.”

“Please don’t be cruel, Gabriel. The fact that I do not experience sexual attraction does not mean that I do not love. I have loved more dearly than you can imagine.”

“Who have you ever loved?” He means to sound cold and scornful, but the words come out like a prayer.

“You,” she says softly, stroking his cheek with her cool, soothing hand. “I have spent decades devoting my life to your wellbeing and happiness because I love you. I love you as if you were my own child.”

He shakes his head. “No. No, you…can’t.”

“I know that you are angry with me and you do not want to believe me. But everything I have done has been for you, to care for your best interest and Jack’s.”

He sits with his head bowed, staring at the white tiles on the the floor.

“I’m not angry with you,” he says at last. “I’m angry with Jack. He didn’t love me enough to hold on. He didn’t even try. He just…abandoned me.”

“That is not true, Gabriel,” she says. She cups his chin in her little hand and gently raises his face. “Look at me. You know that is not true. You know that Jack’s mind is not like yours. It had no defense against the torment of his grief, but for the one.”

“He would have left me alone…forever. To live without him forever.”

“A long time ago, he forgave you for the things you had to do to save yourself. Now, you must forgive him for being incapable of saving himself.”

“If he’ll come back to me, I’ll forgive him for anything. Take me to him, Angela. Please, I need to see him.”

Jack’s face is pale and drawn. His chest just barely rises and falls with each shallow breath in his heavily drugged sleep. Gabe gazes down at him, smoothing his blonde hair back from his forehead. He takes his unresponsive hand and kisses it, then sits down beside his bed. Angela dismisses the nurse, then shuts off the IV drip. After a few minutes, Jack’s fingers twitch in Gabe’s hand. His eyelids flutter and he makes a low, plaintive sound in his throat.

“Jack?” Gabe says softly. “Baby, are you awake?”

Jack’s head moves feebly from side to side. He can’t seem to open his eyes.

“It’s ok, baby. I’m here with you.”

“Gabe…?” Jack rasps, in a barely-audible whisper.

“Yeah,” Gabe says, unable to stop the tears that start down his face. “Yeah, baby, I’m here.”

Jack’s eyelids struggle open, then fall closed again. “Where…where are we?”

“We’re in the hospital. You had an accident. But you’re going to be alright.”

“An accident?” Jack says. He is able to force his eyes open this time, as the sedatives are beginning to leave his system. “What happened? I…can’t remember.”

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Gabe says. He takes both of Jack’s hands in his and presses them to his lips. “You’re going to be alright. That’s all that matters.”

Jack squeezes Gabe’s hands and manages a feeble smile. Gabe’s heart skips a beat. This is it. This is the most beautiful Jack has ever been. Not the day they met, not their wedding day, but now. Pale and haggard, with dark circles beneath his eyes, and looking as if he’s aged ten years overnight, in this moment, Gabe’s husband is more beautiful to him than anything else in the world.

Jack frowns and pulls Gabe’s hands closer to look at them. “Gabe…where’s your wedding ring?”

 

 

In the weeks following Commander Morrison’s mental breakdown, Jesse finds himself more solitary than ever. Of course he hasn’t been allowed to see him, which he understands, but he cares about the man so much he can’t help but feel downcast about it. And of course, no one outside of the small inner circle is allowed to know about it, so Jesse can’t even vent his worries to a friend or anything. Commander Reyes has turned over the Talon investigation to Agent Lacroix for the time being, and is devoting his entire energy to his husband’s recovery. Left under his own supervision, and having nothing else to do for the moment, Jesse throws himself into the Yakuza case with all the interest he can muster.

He tries to be happy that his Commanders are working things out between them, and he truly enjoys his job, but the overwhelming isolation weighs on him, and he often finds himself sitting at Commander Reyes’ desk smoking and ruminating over his loneliness when he should be doing something useful. This particular evening finds him going through the tax documents for a Yakuza-owned company called Sakura Logistics and Supply, examining them for discrepancies that might suggest money laundering. At 19:31, his phone chirps with an incoming text.

Fareeha: JESSE HAPPY 20TH!!! I am so sad I can’t be there but I will give you your present as soon as I get back! I hope you are having a special and wonderful day!

Jesse: Thank you kindly fairy queen! I sure am. Just headin out to celebrate now.

Fareeha: Awesome! Have a great night! :-D

Jesse looks at the time and sighs. It’s unlikely anyone else has remembered. He chides himself for allowing the fact that he is alone on his birthday to bother him so much, but he can't help the cold, sinking feeling that grips the pit of his stomach and threatens to reduce him to childish tears. Well, ain’t no use sittin’ around feelin’ sorry for himself. He stuffs his phone in his pocket and grabs his hat.

“The lord helps those as helps themselves,” he mutters to himself, as he shuts off the light and locks the door behind him.

 

Several passers-by turn to glance curiously at the tall, good-looking young man as he parks his motorcycle on the street outside the Rawhide Saloon. The motorcycle itself is what has drawn their attention. The thing is a roaring beast of glossy black paint and mirror-finished chrome, and bears the unmistakable red skull logo of the Deadlocks, an infamous American biker gang. An actual petrol engine and real vulcanized rubber tires are a rare sight in the city nowadays. Jesse had to obtain a special permit from the Swiss authorities to be allowed to ride it in-country, a bureaucratic morass that would have taken months to work through, had Commander Reyes not lit a fire under the road traffic office’s collective asses, as he put it.

Karl smiles brightly and waves his towel from behind the bar as Jesse enters. “Howdy Jesse! I was beginning to think you had forgotten us.”

“I could never forget you, sugar,” Jesse says, climbing onto a barstool. “How’s it goin’?”

“Oh, you know. Things are always slow at this time of the year. But I cannot complain. Whiskey?”

“Thank you.”

Jesse lights a cigarette as Karl pours a generous tumbler of golden-brown liquor and slides it across the bar. Jesse scans the room, sipping it in a dilatory fashion. The saloon is sparsely populated compared its usual state, but many of the tables are occupied, and the bare-chested waiters bustle about as industriously as always, sauntering and flirting as they dispense drinks to their lively clientele.

“Will your cousin James be joining you this evening?” Karl asks.

“Sorry, Karl,” Jesse grins, turning back to his friend. “I don’t think he’ll be around for a while. I’ll tell him you’re missin’ him, though.”

“That is too bad.” Karl sighs and clucks his tongue. “If more of my customers were as handsome as the two of you, we would have a packed house every night. But, c’est la vie.”

“Say, Karl,” Jesse says slowly. “You got anything…special on the menu tonight?”

Karl’s eyebrows shoot up and he nearly drops the glass he is drying. “Jesse, don’t tease! Are you really interested?”

“I wouldn’t tease you about doin’ business, sweetheart. It’s been a long, cold winter and I reckon I could use a little warmin’ up.”

“I happen to have just the thing,” Karl says, clapping his hands together excitedly. “I hired a new boy last week, and I thought of you when I saw him. He is perfect for you!”

“That a fact?” Jesse says. “Well…I guess I can’t turn down perfection. Let’s do it.”

“Excellent!” Karl stows his towel and comes around the bar. “Right this way, my friend.”

Jesse follows Karl around the corner from the stage, where they take a flight of stairs up to a what appears to be a hotel hallway. Along one side, there are a row of doors bearing brass number placards. Jesse stuffs his hands into his pockets and glances up and down the hall as Karl slides a keycard through the slot to unlock number three.

“You have not been in one of our VIP parlors before,” Karl says, holding the door and stepping aside for Jesse to enter. “How do you like it?”

Jesse steps in and looks around. The room has been furnished and decorated with painstaking attention to detail to look like a Victorian-style lady’s boudoir. A crimson velvet couch and matching high-backed chair are arranged before an impressively realistic holographic fireplace, and the wood floor is covered in imitation oriental rugs. On the far side of the room, there is a four-poster bed with a delicate, floral-print bedspread and a mahogany vanity with an oval mirror. Behind a Japanese privacy screen, sits an enormous claw-footed bathtub.

Jesse pushes back the brim of his hat and whistles. “Well, I’ll be damned. These are some fancy digs y’all got up here. What’s it gonna run me?”

“For you, I will say eight hundred for the room and two hours,” Karl says. “Normally I would require payment in advance, but I will gladly add it to your tab, if you would prefer.”

“Naw, that’s alright,” Jesse says, pulling out his wallet. He hands Karl his bank card to scan. “I shouldn’t offend you by askin’, but I gotta be responsible and everything—”

“No, no, of course,” Karl says, waving his hand. “Our hosts are all licensed with the canton and fully insured. Here is your host’s name and permit number in case you want to verify his medical clearance.” He extends a white business card to Jesse, who glances at it and places it in his wallet with his bank card. “Wonderful. Then I will leave you to enjoy yourself, unless you have any questions?”

“Well, I uh…I guess I could use a drink,” Jesse says.

“I will send up a bottle of whiskey,” Karl grins. “Make yourself comfortable, and he will be with you shortly. And don’t be so nervous. I know you will like him!”

Karl departs and Jesse sits uneasily on the sofa. He takes some deep breaths to relax himself. He’s not exactly sure how these kind of things go. He reckons it probably ain’t much different from a regular date, only the fun part at the end is guaranteed. He removes his hat and is setting it down on the coffee table when there is a soft knock at the door.

He hops to his feet and calls out, “Come on in!” in as confident a voice as he can manage.

He hears a card slide in the lock. The door opens, admitting a very blonde, very blue-eyed, and very attractive young man about Jesse’s age. Jesse guesses Karl wasn’t fooled by that cousin story after all. A shirtless waiter follows him in, carrying a tray with the whiskey and glasses, which he deposits on the table beside Jesse’s hat and retreats.

“Hi, there. You must be Jesse,” the blonde boy says, with an incandescent smile. “I’m Ben.”

“You’re American,” Jesse says, surprised at the boy’s accent.

“Canadian, actually,” Ben replies. “I hope that’s ok.”

“Oh, no—I mean, yeah. I mean it’s nice you speak English and all,” Jesse says, flushing with embarrassment.

Ben laughs. “So, I take it you don’t do this kind of thing very often.”

“Not so much, no.”

“It’s alright. Why don’t we sit down and I’ll pour you a drink.”

Jesse sits and watches the young man pour him a glass of whiskey. He is positively gorgeous to look at (thought not nearly so handsome as Jack). His face is young and fresh, with fine, symmetrical features, perfect white teeth, and large blue eyes (though not nearly so blue as Jack’s). He’s a few inches shorter than Jesse and his lean body suggests more of the gymnast than the bruiser. All in all, he is nothing like what Jesse had expected. In fact, he’d been half prepared for the man to show up in one of those ridiculous cowboy costumes from the cabaret shows. Instead, he’s wearing a simple, white, v-neck t-shirt and some kind of soft, black pajama pants.

Ben catches Jesse staring and flashes another one of those megawatt smiles. “I hope that look means you like what you see.”

“I—yeah,” Jesse says. “You’re…uh…you’re real pretty.”

“Thanks,” Ben says, handing Jesse a glass. “You’re not half bad yourself. Most of my clients are…let’s call them more _seasoned_ gentlemen. To be honest, it’s relief to see someone I might actually be interested in outside of work. Oh, a couple ground rules to get out of the way. No rough stuff, no daddy talk, and don’t come without warning me first, ok?”

Jesse nods. “Got it.”

He sips his whiskey, attempting to appear at ease. Ben sits down facing him, close enough that their knees touch. He fixes Jesse with those big blue eyes and Jesse’s stomach flutters.

“You seem kind of tense, Jesse,” he says. “How about this. Why don’t you let me rub your shoulders while we talk a little?”

“That sounds real nice, Ben, thank you.”

Jesse sits down on the floor, reclining against the sofa between Ben’s legs. The whiskey and the skilled hands of the young prostitute work their magic, and Jesse quickly begins to warm up and relax. Ben’s fingers slide up into his hair, twirling and tugging as they massage his scalp. Jesse’s head lolls back and he gives a long, shuddering sigh. He can’t remember the last time someone touched him this way, just for the sake of making him feel good.

“Hey Ben,” he says, draining his third glass. “Anyone ever tell you you look an awful lot like that Overwatch Commander fella? Morrison?”

“All the time,” Ben laughs. “I think that’s why Karl hired me. I guess it’s a fairly popular request.”

“I bet.”

“So, what brings you to Switzerland?” Ben asks, digging a knuckle into a knot beneath Jesse’s shoulder blade.

“Ah! Fuck—that’s the spot. I’m here for work.”

“Oh, really? What do you do?”

“Lots of things. Right now I’m…well, I’m auditing a Japanese company’s tax records for evidence of fraud.”

“Wow, that sounds interesting,” Ben says, working through another knot in Jesse’s upper back.

Jesse knows it does _not_ sound interesting, but part of Ben’s job is to be a good listener, and he’s grateful for the opportunity to talk as much as he wants without being told to shut the fuck up. He describes at length the process of examining quarterly earnings statements, comparing those numbers to the shipping invoices for each corresponding quarter, and then checking those against claimed assets and income for each year. Ben encourages him with little interjections and questions till Jesse is all talked out and lapses into an easy, contented silence.

“Jesse,” Ben says softly, sliding his fingers down inside Jesse’s collar. “Can I take your shirt off?”

Jesse grins up at him. “Can I take yours off?”

“Maybe we should just lose all the clothes,” Ben laughs. “We’re both way overdressed for the occasion.”

“I guess we could give it try,” Jesse says, pushing himself up off the floor. He takes Ben’s hand and pulls him to his feet. “But I gotta warn you, I might be tempted to take advantage of you.”

“I’m counting on it,” Ben says.

He leans forward to bury his face in the hollow behind Jesse’s ear. Jesse closes his eyes, feeling Ben’s hot breath on his neck and breathing in his warm, clean scent. His cock swells and drools in his underwear as Ben unbuttons his shirt. He pulls Ben’s t-shirt off over his head and drops it on the floor beside his own. There is the usual awkward fumbling to remove boots and pants, but finally, they are undressed. Jesse takes the boy’s face in his hands and gazes down into those gorgeous blue eyes.

“I reckon this is probably against the rules, darlin’, but I really wanna kiss you.”

“It’s ok,” Ben says, looking up at the ruggedly handsome young cowboy. “Kiss me, Jesse. I want you to.”

Jesse wraps his arms around the boy and presses him into his chest. The sensation of his smooth, naked skin against his makes him lightheaded. His cock throbs and aches. He parts Ben’s pouting lips and caresses his tongue with his own as they grasp and fondle each other’s bodies.

“Tell me what you want,” Ben purrs in Jesse’s ear. “Do you want me to suck your cock first, or do you just want to fuck?”

“Suck me,” Jesse says. “Then ride me. I want you to come on my stomach while I fuck you.”

“You want to do it on the couch or the bed?”

Jesse sits down on the couch and grins roguishly.

“Hang on a sec,” Ben smiles.

He goes to the nightstand beside the bed and returns with a couple of packets of some kind of lubricant. He sets them on the couch and kneels between Jesse’s knees. Jesse gasps and twitches as the boy’s hot, wet mouth covers the swollen, sensitive head of his cock. Ben grips it firmly, flicking his tongue over the tip, taking it into his mouth till it hits the back of his throat, sliding it out to stroke and lick it, then taking it in again. Jesse cranes his neck to watch the blonde head bobbing up and down on his cock. His mind whirls with ecstasy as Ben’s urgent mouth sucks him headlong toward climax.

“Hold up, darlin’!” He says breathlessly. “I still wanna fuck you.”

Ben draws back and smiles up at him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You need a minute to catch your breath?”

“Shut up and kiss me,” Jesse laughs. “Then get your ass on my cock.”

Ben straddles his lap and kisses him. He tears open a lube packet and liberally slicks both of their cocks. Jesse spreads Ben’s ass apart with his hands. He feels the boy’s hot, tight hole squeezing on his cock as Ben lowers himself slowly, taking it inch by inch, all the way to the pubic bone. He bucks up with his hips and drops back down, quivering and moaning as Jesse’s thick, rigid shaft impales his insides. Jesse takes Ben’s cock in his hand and strokes it vigorously, watching him bounce on his lap, chest pink and flushed with exertion, skin glistening with perspiration.

“I’m gonna come soon,” Ben pants. “You want me to wait?”

“Come, darlin’,” Jesse grunts. “Come for me.”

Jesse presses Ben’s cock down against his stomach. Ben’s eyes roll back and his blushing lips part in a low moan. His insides contract on Jesse’s cock as hot fluid spurts out in quick bursts onto Jesse’s stomach and chest. Jesse takes him by the hips and thrusts with all his strength, lifting him up off the sofa as he pounds into him. His muscles tense up and begin to shake. With a strangled groan in his throat, he comes. His cock spasms violently, flooding and overflowing the boy’s rectum with his ejaculation. Ben collapses against him, panting and slick with sweat.

“You were supposed to warn me before you came,” he laughs, poking Jesse in the ribs.

“Aw shit, sorry darlin’,” Jesse puffs, still out of breath. “You just feel so good, I got carried away fuckin’ you.”

“It’s ok,” Ben says. “I liked it.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah. I don’t usually let clients come inside me, but I wanted you to. I don’t think anyone has ever fucked me like that before.”

“Well, that’s lucky for me, then. Don’t want Karl to throw me out for abusin’ the staff.”

“Karl would throw _me_ out before he’d let you go,” Ben says, rolling off Jesse’s lap and flopping back into the sofa cushions. “He talks about you all the time.”

“Does he, now?” Jesse climbs over him and kisses a line up his flat abdomen.

“He does. He insists you’re a real outlaw and you’re hiding out in Switzerland because the American authorities are after you.”

Jesse chuckles. “He ain’t too far off, only I ain’t an outlaw anymore.”

“Oh yeah?” Ben laughs, clearly believing this to be a joke. “You wandering the earth righting your past wrongs and rooting out tax fraud?”

“Somethin’ like that,” Jesse says. He sits up and glances about for his clothes. Now that he’s done what he came to do, he feels a strong urge to get home and into his own shower and bed.

“Let me get you a towel,” Ben says. “We wouldn’t want to get lube and come all over your clothes.”

He brings Jesse a clean towel from the vanity and lies naked on the couch, watching him dress.

Jesse cocks an eyebrow. “You gonna lounge around like a lazy cat for the rest of the night?”

“Hey, you’re paid up for another forty-five minutes,” Ben grins. “I think I’m going to drink some more of your whiskey and take a bath.”

“So mouthy,” Jesse says, leaning down to kiss him again. “You do that, sugar. You deserve it.”

“Thanks, Jesse. And if you ever want to play again, you know where I am.”

“I might just take you up on that. See you around, darlin’.” He tips his hat and shuts the door softly behind him.

Once downstairs, he exits the saloon briskly, eager to get the long drive through the chilly, early-spring night over with. But not before he books an appointment with Ben for the following week.

 

 


	71. Ice Cream

Zenyatta disembarks the Overwatch aircraft to find Commander Reyes waiting for him at the heliport. Some of the landing crew cast curious glances at the odd pair as they exchange bows and Anjali Mudra.

“Hey, Zenyatta,” Gabe says warmly. “It’s good to see you again. How was the flight?”

“Greetings, Gabriel Reyes,” Zenyatta says. “It is good to see you, as well. The journey was pleasant.”

“I’d ask if you’re tired, but that seems unlikely,” Gabe grins.

“You are correct. I do not easily become tired.”

“Excellent. I’ll show you to your quarters and help you get a general idea of how to get around here. Don’t worry about your luggage. The crew will deliver it.”

“That is most kind. Thank you.”

Zenyatta silently studies his companion as they pass through the automatic doors into the heliport’s elevator lobby. Despite the Commander’s brisk and cheerful manner, he senses something is amiss with him. It is as if the man’s entire being is focused toward one point. A deeply significant connection that is pulling at him with enormous strength, draining nearly all of his energy.

“Listen,” Gabe says, as they ride the lift down. “I hate to throw something at you right away like this, but an urgent matter has come up and I hope you can help me with it.”

“I am entirely at your service,” Zenyatta replies, dipping his head. “Tell me of this matter.”

“Let’s get to your quarters first, then we can talk more privately.”

They exit the elevator at a floor marked Residential-J1 and pass down a brightly lit corridor with numbered doors along each side.

“You’re officially attached as medical personnel, so they’ve assigned you a junior officer’s billet,” Gabe explains. “I hope the room is alright with you. It’s not very big.”

“I am certain it will be sufficient,” Zenyatta replies. “I need very little space.”

“This is you. J-121,” Gabe says, stopping before a door. “Jesse is right down the hall in J-117. The entry is keyed to your biometric data, so you just swipe your hand over the plate here to open the door.”

Zenyatta does so, and the door swings inward. They enter and after a delay of about five seconds, the door closes itself softly behind them. He scans the room. It is rather large (to his thinking) and is essentially a very high-end studio apartment. An enormous picture window overlooking the pristine Swiss Alps admits abundant sunlight, and there is a small kitchen, a living area with a sofa and a holovid screen, and an alcove containing a twin-sized bed.

“They all come with standard furnishings,” Gabe says. “But you can have the the décor altered to suit you. There’s a catalogue in the Supply tab of the Overwatch Staff homepage.”

“Thank you, Gabriel Reyes,” Zenyatta says with a smile in his voice. “The furnishings are more than satisfactory. You did not visit my room at Tengboche, but I assure you that it was not nearly so luxurious as this.”

“Well, good,” Gabe smiles back. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here. So, about that thing I mentioned.”

“Yes, let us speak of it.”

“Before I tell you, I have to warn you that this is the type of information that has to be kept totally confidential. If you don’t want to be responsible for essentially top-secret knowledge, just say so. I will completely understand.”

“As a spiritual advisor, as well as a practitioner of healing, I am accustomed to receiving privileged communication. I have the same legal protection as any member of the clergy or physician against being compelled to share such information, as well.”

“Thank you, Zenyatta. I knew I could trust you with this.”

“I am honored that you wish to make me your confidante,” Zenyatta replies with a bow.

“It’s…Jack,” Gabe says slowly. “Commander Morrison.”

The sheer force of the energy and emotion contained in these few words strikes Zenyatta almost like a blow. This is Gabriel Reyes’ attachment. His whole soul is in that name. He observes as the man’s entire aspect suddenly changes. All at once, he appears exhausted, weighed down, and in pain.

He takes a moment to recover, then says gently, “Tell me about your friend Jack, Gabriel Reyes. What can I do to help him?”

Gabe’s hand trembles as he raises it to his brow. “He’s very ill. No one knows except for me, Dr. Ziegler, Jesse, and Dr. Oshima. She’s our top expert in post-traumatic stress and is assisting with his treatment.”

“What is the nature of his illness?”

“This is going to take some explaining,” Gabe says apologetically. “You ready to hear a long story?”

“I am ready,” Zenyatta nods.

“Ok.” Gabe takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “The first thing you need to understand is that, aside from our names, pretty much everything the world knows about us is a lie.”

 

 

Black. Red. White. Blue. Black again. Pain has colors now. The only language that can adequately express his suffering is the language of the visible spectrum. The empty spaces where things have been lost are black. The rage is red. The agony is white. Blue is easiest, but it lasts the longest. Weighs the most. Then things go black again. That is where a memory is missing. The cycle repeats.

He wants to know why he knows the ring is gone, but not what he did with it. It doesn’t make sense. Why would a mind retain just enough of something to torment itself to madness? Why does he know he was born in Iowa, but remember living in Indiana so clearly? Why does he know Gabriel Reyes is his husband, but not remember their wedding day? Why does he remember his family’s names but not their faces? No one can tell him. They say it is part of the process. It will come back gradually. He nods and says something hopeful. This makes them feel better.

He remembers a beautiful face. A grey-eyed boy who kissed him once, in their house. He is afraid to ask about it. What if this is something Gabe doesn’t know? It may cause him pain. Gabe’s grief is already more than he can bear. He can’t add anything to it. But Gabe’s forgiveness is the hardest part. It shreds and crushes Jack’s insides till he can almost taste blood. He wants him to be angry. To curse him for abandoning him and letting him live in solitary agony for more than a decade. But he looks into those deep, dark eyes and finds only forgiveness. And love.

He remembers the taste of the barrel of a gun, but not pulling the trigger. He turns over and vomits again. Angela is already there, holding a blue emesis bag before his face and speaking soothing words. There isn’t much to collect. He hasn’t been eating or drinking.

She frowns and deposits the bag in a waste bin. “You are severely dehydrated. The IV will have to go back in.”

This is not as simple a process as it sounds. His body heals too fast for an IV to be easily maintained. She goes to the cabinet and gets her equipment: a syringe that has a specially designed tungsten-steel alloy needle with a barbed shaft to keep it in place in his vein, and a power supply which delivers a low-level electric charge to keep the tiny puncture wound from immediately closing.

“I’m sorry Jack,” she says. “I know this hurts.”

He says it’s alright. He doesn’t mind physical pain at all. It’s a welcome distraction. She jabs the needle into his arm and gives it a quick twist. He doesn’t even wince. She hooks it up and switches on the glucose drip. He can feel the cool fluid seeping into his arm and dispersing through his fevered, exhausted body. She brings him some minty mouthwash and he dutifully rinses and spits, though it seems like an exercise in futility. He’ll be puking again in a few minutes.

“This must be how mothers feel when they have morning sickness,” he says hoarsely, dropping his head back onto his pillow. “How the fuck has the human race survived.”

“A series of lucky biological accidents,” she says archly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. She lays a cool hand on his forehead. “Your temperature is elevated.”

“What does that mean?”

“Your body is trying to conserve heat to heal itself, as if you are suffering from a viral infection.” She smiles. “Just a little fever. It isn’t high enough to be dangerous. Your friend from the Shambali monastery will be here today.”

“Gabe thinks he can help,” Jack says.

“Perhaps he can. I am interested to see what he can do.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. Why do you seem surprised?”

“I didn’t think you’d be very enthusiastic about that kind of…alternative healing.”

“Zenyatta is a monk, but he is also an Omnic, Jack. What he does must be based in science. Besides, I have heard many reports of the Shambali method of healing and I find it quite fascinating.”

He begins to shiver and she draws the blanket over him, tucking it up under his chin.

“Thanks, Mercy,” he smirks.

“Ugh, do not call me that,” she says, wrinkling her little nose. “How did that stupid nickname even start?”

“I think the wings had something to do with it.”

“Well, I suppose I _have_ invited the analogy myself.” Her phone vibrates and she looks at it. “They are on their way over. Are you ready?”

“I’m ready,” Jack smiles feebly. He is ashen and perspiring again.

After a few minutes, the door opens and Zenyatta floats serenely into the room, followed by Gabe.

“Master Zenyatta,” Jack says. “Thanks for coming. This is Dr. Ziegler, our chief of medicine and the head of our biomedical research division.”

“Commander Morrison,” Zenyatta replies smoothly, with a deep bow to Jack and Angela. “Thank you for inviting me. I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Dr. Ziegler.”

“Likewise,” Angela says, returning the salutation. “We are very happy to have you on board.”

“It is an honor,” Zenyatta says. He turns to Jack. “I understand that you are in need of my assistance, Commander.”

“Gabe has explained the situation, correct?”

“He has.”

“And you think you can help me?”

“Indeed, I do,” Zenyatta replies. “But the process will require my presence during your therapeutic sessions with Dr. Oshima. I am bound by my vows not to repeat anything I hear, but I may be made privy to things that are deeply personal to you. Will this be acceptable?”

Jack glances and Gabe, then back at Zenyatta. “Gabe trusts you. That’s enough for me.”

“Very well,” Zenyatta says. “Then we can begin tomorrow.”

“Excellent,” Jack says, already out of breath. Gabe steps to his side and takes his hand. “I need to rest now, but Dr. Ziegler would like to hear more about your methods, if you don’t mind accompanying her back to her office.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Zenyatta says, bowing again. “Until tomorrow, Commander.”

“Tomorrow,” Jack nods. “Thanks, Zenyatta.”

 

 

“No, now I know you’re making this up,” Jack says, scooping a spoonful from his pint of ice cream. “There’s no fucking way I would’ve let you have six cats.”

“It’s the god’s honest truth, Jack, I swear,” Gabe laughs. “Give me that. I want to try yours.”

“Hands off, Reyes! You got strawberry and you’re stuck with it!”

“But now I want rocky road,” Gabe says, snatching the pint from Jack’s hands. “You can have some of mine.”

“Gross, Gabe. Strawberry is for people without taste buds.” Jack rescues his ice cream, but only after Gabe has absconded with a generous spoonful. “Six though? Did our house stink like cat piss from the street?”

“No way, we had a great housekeeper. Marie. She was French and she made amazing food and scolded us for smoking in the house.”

“Us?” Jack says, astonished. “I smoked, too?”

“No, not really. You used to pretend to when you were upset, though. I think you just liked wasting my cigarettes to get back at me.”

“What did I have to get back at you for?”

“Listen baby,” Gabe says, with a sly grin. “You’ve got to let me take advantage of the one benefit of having an amnesiac husband, which is that you can’t remember all the shit I did to piss you off over the years.”

“What? No fair!” Jack pouts. “I’ll tell Dr. Oshima you’re withholding details from our past when I specifically ask you, and you’ll get in trouble.”

“You wouldn’t!” Gabe gasps.

“I would.”

“But baby! She’ll make me hold the honesty pillow!”

“That’s what you get. And stop eating my ice cream.”

“You worried I’ll get fat?” Gabe says through a mouthful of rocky road.

Jack leans his head to one side and looks Gabe up and down. “A little. You already have an ass like a rapper’s girlfriend.”

“You should talk,” Gabe grumbles. “You have an ass like a nine-year-old boy.”

“Uh, Gabe…you might want to rethink that comparison, considering the fact that you pretty much wreck my ass on a nightly basis.”

“Yeah,” Gabe winces. “I knew that sentence was headed for disaster before it was halfway out of my mouth. Let’s claim amnesia on that one.”

“You know, I really have amnesia,” Jack says, pointing his full spoon at Gabe. “You can’t just claim it on things you don’t _want_ me to remember. That’s trivializing my condition.”

“Aw baby, look! You’re dripping ice cream on the carpet.”

“It’s my carpet. What do you care?”

“Yeah, but that’s my shirt you’re getting it all over,” Gabe says, dabbing at Jack’s chest with a napkin.

Jack eyes him defiantly and smears his spoon across the place on the shirt that Gabe has just wiped up, leaving a sticky smudge and a miniature marshmallow clinging to the black fabric.

“Oh yeah?” Gabe says, pouncing on Jack and wresting the spoon from his grasp. “Then I want my shirt back, brat!”

Jack doesn’t even playfully resist. He simply sighs and melts happily beneath Gabe’s weight, allowing himself to be held down and kissed. Gabe takes his pint of ice cream away and sets it on the coffee table.

“You got it on the sofa too,” he says, stroking Jack’s face and gazing adoringly into his bright blue eyes. “You’re such a fucking mess.”

“That’s why you like me,” Jack grins.

Just then, there are three sharp taps at Jack’s door. Gabe sits up as Jack calls out for the visitor to come in. Angela glides into the room and stops short, surveying the scene disapprovingly.

“What is going on in here?” She demands. “You are supposed to be taking your recovery seriously, and I find the two of you romping about and stuffing yourselves with ice cream like teenaged girls at a slumber party?”

“We are taking it seriously,” Jack says, looking as innocent as possible. “This is therapeutic ice cream, Angela.”

“Oh really?” Angela says, arching a blonde eyebrow.

“Yep. Doctor’s orders,” Gabe replies. “She told us to indulge ourselves and enjoy being together, so that’s what we’re doing.”

“She’s a very good doctor,” Jack chimes in cheerfully. “Thanks for referring us to her.”

“I doubt that Dr. Oshima meant you should lie around in your underwear all day eating junk food.”

“I’m not in my underwear,” Gabe says, gesturing down at his black jeans.

“I can see that, Gabriel, but you have not got a shirt on. It is past four in the afternoon. Why are you not dressed?”

“I was dressed. Jack took my shirt.”

“Lovely. You may recall, however, that we are attempting to prevent Jack’s condition and your relationship from becoming public knowledge. What if it had been someone else at the door and they had seen you two like this?”

“I recognized your knock,” Jack chirps. “Want some ice cream?”

Angela sighs resignedly and collapses onto the sofa. “Heilige Mutter Gottes…what do you have?”

“I’ve got some strawberry left.” Gabe goes to the kitchen and opens the freezer. “There _was_ rocky road, but Jack is wearing that, and…coffee bean and vanilla in here.”

“Coffee, please,” she says, rubbing her forehead with her fingertips. “I could use the caffeine.”

Gabe returns with a pint and spoon for Angela, then sits down beside Jack, who snuggles into him and watches her sample the frozen treat.

“Oh,” she blinks. “This is very good.”

“Of course it is,” Gabe snorts. “I ordered it from a Swiss creamery. I’m not about to eat that food-paste they call ice cream from our mess.”

“You have excellent taste, Gabriel,” she smiles. “Now, listen. I came to talk to you about something important. I am concerned about Jesse.”

“What about him?” Gabe asks.

“I have been keeping an eye on him and—”

“Why?”

“Because someone has to,” she replies, taking another dainty bite of her ice cream. “I have been doing both of your jobs while the two of you are on your second honeymoon, you know.”

“In all fairness, we never really took a first one,” Gabe says.

Jack looks up at him wide-eyed. “Is that true? You didn’t take me on a honeymoon?”

“I can’t…I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me.” Gabe hesitates, then looks to Angela. “Can you tell if he’s fucking with me?”

She makes an exasperated gesture. “You two are completely impossible to deal with when you are this happy. Will you please just listen to me?”

“Sorry Angela,” Jack says. “We’re listening.”

“Jesse has been different lately,” she continues. “He is depressed and has begun isolating himself.”

“Is it fallout from losing his arm?” Jack offers. “People usually suffer from depression after that kind of trauma.”

“No,” Angela says, replacing the lid on her pint container, though she has only had a few spoonfuls. “He is suffering from depression because he thinks he is in love with you.”

“He thinks he’s…in love with me?” Jack’s cheeks flush with color and he looks away.

Angela shrugs. “He will grow out of it. Adolescents often have a difficult time separating sex from emotional attachment.”

“I didn’t have sex with Jesse, Angela,” Jack frowns.

“Ah, then I apologize. I encountered him leaving your room very early one morning and assumed that was what had taken place.”

“Hang on, he spent the night?” Gabe says, raising his eyebrows. “You forget to mention that part, Jack?”

“Amnesia,” Jack shoots back, without skipping a beat.

Gabe nearly chokes on his ice cream stifling a laugh, and Angela sighs tolerantly.

“No, he—we went out for drinks,” Jack continues, growing increasingly red in the face. “Which was only because I was trying to be friendly with him like Gabe would have done, and then we came back here and—”

“And then you made out with him,” Gabe smirks.

“I—well, yes. He kissed me. But just once. Then we talked for a while—mostly about you, Gabe—then we must’ve fallen asleep. The next thing I recall, we were waking up on the couch.”

“Right,” Gabe says, with an exaggerated nod. “You made out and then cuddled with him.”

“I don’t think _cuddled_ is the right word. I don’t even remember lying down.”

Gabe strokes his whiskers with the air of a television detective. “Hmm. I wonder what else you don’t remember from that night.”

“Gabe, you have to believe me,” Jack pleads, now entirely crimson. “We didn’t—”

“I’m playing with you, baby,” Gabe grins. “I know you didn’t fuck Jesse.”

“I am so glad that has been cleared up,” Angela says tartly. “In any case, Jesse thinks that his feelings for Jack are equivalent to disloyalty to you, Gabriel. He says he understands why you have been unavailable, but I know that he at least partly believes that is what has caused you to abandon him.”

“Poor kid,” Gabe says, shaking his head. “I mean, he shouldn’t have tried to fuck my husband, but I’m really not angry with him. We talked about it when we were in Paris.”

“You should try to talk to him again. He is very much alone and I fear he has been coping with his confusion in a rather unhealthy way.”

“Unhealthy how?”

“Well, for the past couple of months, he has been frequenting a certain…establishment and engaging the services of a prostitute.”

“How did you find out about it?”

“Oh, please, Gabriel. I was working with the CIA when you were in diapers and half the people in this organization are professional spies. If I could not keep track of a twenty-year-old employee who is not concealing his whereabouts—”

“Alright, I get it,” Gabe interrupts. “But Angela, Jesse is a grown man and prostitution is legal here. If he isn’t breaking any laws or hurting anyone, I don’t really think it’s my place to interfere.”

“This is the boy he has been seeing,” she says, producing her phone and tapping the screen. “His name is Benjamin Pelletier. He is a twenty-three-year-old Canadian expatriate and part-time fashion model, moonlighting as an escort.”

She slides her phone across the table. Gabe picks it up and his expression changes.

“Oh,” he says. “I see.” He hands the phone to Jack.

Jack blinks incredulously at the image on the screen. “Oh.”

“So you see the problem,” she replies, taking her phone back. “I think that Jesse needs something to do that will take his mind off things. And I think a change of scenery would be in order. Nothing too dangerous, but something that will get him out of his rut for a little while and make him feel productive and useful.”

Gabe crosses his arms and leans back, furrowing his brow in thought. “Well…he has been busting his ass on that Yakuza case. I suppose I could send him on a low-profile recon/surveillance job for a month or two.”

“In Japan?” Angela says. “That sounds like just the thing.”

“But,” Jack interjects, “won’t he just be alone and depressed in Japan, then? I mean, isn’t his being isolated the issue in the first place?”

“No, no.” She shakes her blonde head decidedly. “Jesse is normally a very gregarious and charming young man. But the current situation is hanging over his head and weighing upon him so that he wishes to be isolated. He is not likely to have trouble enjoying himself and making friends once he is out from beneath it.”

“Well, he was saying to me that he always wanted to go there,” Jack says. “And he was over the moon about the prospect of investigating the Yakuza. Gabe, what do you think?”

“I guess…as long as he’s actually working and not just on paid vacation,” Gabe says slowly. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe this will be good for him. If you’ll approve the travel and expenses and everything, Jack.”

“Sure,” Jack says. “Anything he needs.”

“Alright. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

“Wonderful,” Angela says, rising to go. “I think that this will be best for everyone. Thank you, Jack. Gabriel.”

Jack shows Angela out and returns to find Gabe glancing about and rubbing his hands together anxiously.

“Hey honey, what’s up?” Jack says, sitting down beside him and taking his hands to kiss them. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh, it’s—nothing. It’s stupid. Forget about it.”

“Nope. Tell me, or you don’t get your hands back.”

“Well, I…uh,” Gabe laughs uneasily. “I’ve never sent Jesse out on a job like this on his own. And to be perfectly honest, I’m a little worried about it.”

“Aw, Gabe,” Jack says, leaning in to nuzzle his cheek affectionately. “You’re such a dad!”

“I’m—wait, I’m a what?” Gabe says, pulling back with a disgusted grimace. “What are you talking about?”

“You adopted yourself a feral cowboy and now you’re worried about him going out into the big bad world all alone.”

Gabe glowers. “I didn’t say I was worried about _him_ , I said I was worried about _it_. The job. He’s pretty green still and if he fucks it up, I’ll be the one who has to clean up the mess.”

“Don’t deny it, Gabe! It’s so sweet!” Jack smiles brightly. “You’re a daddy!”

“I’ll daddy you, you little demon,” Gabe says, taking Jack by the waist. “Come here.”

“Ow! Gabe, what are you doing!” Jack laughs. He struggles and kicks his legs as Gabe hoists him over his shoulder. “Put me down! I didn’t mean it!”

“Too late, baby,” Gabe says. “You called me daddy, so now I have to whip you.”

“Wait!” Jack gasps, through his fit of laughter. “Gabe, wait!”

Gabe stops. “What?”

“If I promise not to call you daddy anymore, will you whip me anyway?”

“Absolutely,” Gabe grins, continuing toward the bedroom with his captive.

He tosses Jack onto his bed and stands at the foot of it, gazing down at him with a predatory gleam in his eye. He unfastens his belt and slides it slowly out of the loops. 

“Undress,” he says. “Then get on your hands and knees.”

 

 


	72. Death and Taxes

Jack waits breathlessly on his hands and knees, all his senses on high alert. He hears the tiny, metallic clink of Gabe’s belt buckle somewhere behind him. He gives a start at the sharp _snap_ of the leather as Gabe pulls the ends taut. He gasps softly. Goosebumps prickle up over his skin as Gabe’s hand caresses his ass. He waits for what feels like an hour, trembling with anticipation. Barely breathing. Then, _crack_ , a searing lash slices across his ass. He gives a sharp cry and buries his face in the mattress. Another white-hot lash. He writhes and groans. A beat. Two beats. Gabe’s warm hand rests on the throbbing welt, soothing it just enough to lull him into an uneasy calm, before the next bolt of pain cuts through his consciousness.

“You want me to fuck you, cariño?”

Jack’s reply is muffled by the bedcovers.

Gabe laughs, deep and low. “What’s that? I can’t hear you.”

“Please,” Jack repeats, lifting his face enough to uncover his mouth. “Please, fuck me.”

“Good,” Gabe says. “Good boy. Beg me.”

“Please fuck—ah!” A vicious lash chokes his voice in his throat. “Please, please!”

Gabe’s big, hard hands grip both sides of his ass. His thumbs spread it apart, exposing him, making him completely vulnerable.

“So pretty,” Gabe growls. “Such a pretty little hole.”

There is a long pause.

“Oh, fuck! Fuck!” Jack gasps.

Gabe’s hot, wet tongue draws a slow, tantalizing circle around the sensitive rim of Jack’s asshole. Jack whimpers and grips the bedsheets. Gabe’s tongue slides just inside, curling and caressing his taut opening, then withdrawing. He pushes a thick, calloused finger slowly into the spit-slicked hole, then another. He hooks them and finds the spot. Jack bucks and shivers. His cock drools. Gabe plucks his insides, sending aching throbs of pleasure coursing through every nerve in his body. He whines as Gabe withdraws his fingers.

“So impatient, baby,” Gabe says.

Jack hears a cap being unscrewed. His asshole tenses and twitches as cold fluid drizzles onto it. Gabe stretches him open with his finger and thumb, pressing the warm, firm head of his cock in between them.

“You want my cock that bad?” He teases the opening with a slight, circular motion.

“I want—I want you inside me…fuck!”

“That doesn’t sound like begging.”

“Please,” Jack says plaintively, arching his back. “Give it to me, please.”

Gabe lays a heavy hand on the small of his back, pushing it down and tilting Jack’s ass upward. Abruptly, he plunges the full, hard length of himself into Jack’s asshole. Jack gives a hoarse cry, burying his face in the mattress as the head of Gabe’s cock strikes the base of his rectum like a lightning bolt. Gabe holds still, feeling Jack’s hot insides squeezing deliciously on his shaft. He pulls out and thrusts again, harder this time. Jack moans and pushes himself back on it. Gabe digs his fingernails into Jack’s skin and rakes long, crimson tracks down either side of his spine. He bends over and laps the blood up with his tongue before the wounds close and vanish.

“Again,” Jack breathes “Do it again.”

Gabe sinks his teeth into the muscle of Jack’s shoulder, opening another bloody gash. He feels Jack’s asshole begin to quiver and tighten on his cock. He thrusts into him with slow, even strokes, as he bites down again and again, taking his blood in deep, ravenous swallows. The aching pressure in Jack’s gut builds and intensifies, driving him rapidly over the edge.

“Gabe,” he chokes out. “I’m gonna come—fuck me!”

“Come cariño,” Gabe snarls. “Come on my cock like a good little slut.”

Jack’s muscles seize. His rigid, swollen cock throbs and spasms, spraying the bedcover slick below him. Gabe takes him by the hips and hammers him with brutal force, increasing in speed and ferocity with each plunge. Jack pants and trembles under the ruthless barrage. Gabe gives a deep, sharp thrust and holds it. He digs in with his fingernails and groans through his teeth. His thick shaft convulses violently as he comes, flooding Jack’s insides with slippery, viscous fluid.

“Look how much you made me come, baby,” he says breathlessly, watching his semen run out onto the bed. “Fuck, that’s so hot.”

“You’re so pleased with the volume of your ejaculations,” Jack laughs. He pulls away and rolls over onto his back. “Men are gross about sex.”

“You’re a man,” Gabe says, climbing over to lie on top of him. “Doesn’t that mean you’re gross, too?”

“Well, I’m not a usual kind of man. At least, I don’t think I am.” He cranes his neck to expose more of it to Gabe’s kisses. “Am I?”

“Not at all. But I like you weird, so I don’t mind.”

“Gabe…you’re the only man I’ve had sex with.”

“I am.” Gabe nips playfully at Jack’s ear. “Unless there’s something you want to tell me.”

“I’m being serious,” Jack says, pushing Gabe back so he can look into his face. “I’ve never had sex with any man but you. That’s significant to me. And…I almost destroyed it.”

“Oh, baby, I’m sorry for giving you shit about Jesse.” Gabe smiles softly and strokes Jack’s blonde hair. “I’m really not upset. Even if you had slept with him, I’d be ok.”

“But I wouldn’t. It would be devastating to me.” Jack sighs. “I guess I’m lucky he’s a lot smarter than he looks.”

“I think _he’s_ lucky he’s smarter than he looks. I don’t think he’d be able to walk upright if he wasn’t.”

“Did he tell you how he figured it out? That we were…a thing?”

“Yeah,” Gabe chuckles and shakes his head. “You’re not going to fucking believe this. He recognized your scent.”

“My scent?” Jack squints an eye dubiously. “What the fuck?”

“When he first got here, we didn’t have a room for him so I let him use my shower—which was a total disaster, by the way—and he soaked my bathroom floor and got all his clothes wet somehow in the process. So, while the little dipshit’s gear was in the dryer, I let him wear my bathrobe. It just so happens that you had spent the previous evening with me and you’d been wearing it. If you don’t remember, I got home from New Mexico, tossed him in the lockup for the night, and you came to my place to ‘ask about the mission.’ Meaning you wanted to fuck.”

Jack grins. “Can you blame me? I hadn’t seen you in a week.”

“Oh, I’m not complaining, baby. So anyway, more than two years later, he smelled that same scent on you. I’d gotten under the blankets with him to keep him warm when he was injured in Nepal, so he knew it wasn’t mine, and he put two and two together.”

“Oh, I see,” Jack says, raising his eyebrows. “Just to keep him warm.”

“Nice try cariño. But me taking care of a dangerously wounded teenager is not the same thing as you going home with a twenty-year-old man, kissing him, and falling asleep with him on your sofa.”

“It was worth a try,” Jack shrugs. “But seriously, that’s some pretty impressive detective work on his part.”

“Or a wild guess that just happened to pay off.”

“I don’t think so. It doesn’t fit with his character. He had some things figured out about me that I thought I’d kept pretty well hidden, too.”

“Like what?”

“He knew I was gay. I told him to pick a place to have a drink and he took me to a gay strip club.”

“Oh, he took you to the Rawhide Saloon, did he?”

“Yeah, he did. How do you know it?”

“Give me a break, Jack, I’m not a nun. I’ve been to a few places like that.”

“Did you ever, uh…”

“No baby, I didn’t. I haven’t been with anyone but you since I married you.”

“Well, good. You’d better not. So, as I was saying, Jesse could tell I was gay and he also told me you and I had both been hurt badly and were afraid to let ourselves love anyone. I don’t think he knew how right he was about that. Also, he had you pinned for a spook when you were on the Deadlock job.”

“That’s what he says. It’d be easy to claim that after the fact.”

“Do you think he’s lying?”

“No, I don’t think he’s lying.” Gabe leans back on the headboard and gazes thoughtfully into the middle distance. “Not about that, certainly. But I am starting to think there’s more to Jesse than meets the eye.”

“How so?”

“He got himself picked up by the Deadlocks at thirteen, for one. And he wasn’t just some grunt. He was working directly for their leader. A seventeen-year-old kid making major arms deals. Think about that. And then there’s his shooting. I’ve never seen him miss a shot. Are there any marksmanship records he hasn’t broken here?”

Jack shakes his head. “A couple of long-range sniping records, but otherwise, no.”

“That’s what I mean. All that and the fact that he picked up on your scent and could identify it years later, it’s close enough to beyond normal human capability that it makes me wonder…what if Jesse is augmented, like us?”

“I don’t know, Gabe. That sounds a little farfetched to me. How could he be enhanced without anyone figuring it out?”

“Well, he wasn’t exactly seeing a pediatrician when he was with the Deadlocks. The only doctor he’s seen since—oh, god damn it.”

“Angela.”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t think she could have had something to do with Jesse, do you? Even if he is like us, how would that even be possible?”

“I wouldn’t put anything past her at this point,” Gabe says. “This is all just speculation, mind you. We don’t know if he’s augmented or not. But…there’s also something Zenyatta said to me when we were at Tengboche.”

“What was that?”

“He said Jesse’s genetic augmentations would help him heal faster. I told him he was mistaken, and that Jesse was all natural, but now that I think of it, he didn’t exactly seem to agree with me. He just said ‘as you say’ and did that little bow of his.”

“I suppose you could ask him about it. I don’t think he’d tell you, though. He’s got doctor-patient privilege with the staff.”

“Yeah, I don’t think there’d be any use asking him.”

“Wait a minute. Gabe, if you’re going to bring this up with Angela, tread carefully, ok? There’s no reason to think she’d be any more inclined to share Jesse’s medical information with you than Zenyatta would. And in the wildly unlikely case that he is enhanced and she is involved, she might not be too pleased that you’re poking around in it.”

“I’m not scared of Angela, Jack,” Gabe smirks.

“I’m not saying you should be scared of her, I’m just saying maybe we should be paying more attention. Since the day we met her, you’ve suspected there was more going on with her than she admits, and we keep finding out that’s true. She’s always two steps ahead of us.”

“You’re right, baby. I know you’re right. I’ll approach it carefully.”

“And wait till Jesse is in Japan. It won’t do any good to let him get wind of this, especially if it turns out to be nothing.”

“Of course.” Gabe says. He laughs and shakes his head again. “It’s funny, isn’t it? This kid shows up here and I take him under my wing, you make out with him, and Angela hovers over him like a mother hen. Whether he’s like us or not, there’s something extraordinary about him, isn’t there.”

“There must be,” Jack says. “He’s not like anyone I’ve ever met. At least I think he’s not. I wouldn’t know for sure.”

 

When Gabe arrives at his office the next morning, Jesse attempts to greet him as casually as possible, despite being visibly flustered at his Commander’s unexpected appearance.

“Mornin’, boss,” he says cheerfully (internally thanking his lucky stars that he didn’t happen to be lounging with his feet on the desk at the moment, as has become his custom). “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“It’s my fucking office, pendejo,” Gabe says. “I don’t need a reason to be here. No, stay. I don’t mind sitting on this side for once.”

“Suit yourself,” Jesse shrugs, leaning back comfortably in the Commander’s chair. “So, you just come to look at my pretty face?”

“I came to see where you’re at on the Yakuza thing. I know I’ve been out, but we need to do something to justify our budget, or the accounting department starts to get restless.”

“Boy howdy, boss,” Jesse says eagerly. “I’m glad you asked cause I got some bombshells for you.”

“Well?”

“This’ll sound crazy till you see what I been puttin’ together, but you know that big Yakuza outfit, the Shimada Clan?”

“I know of them.”

“Well, I got a pretty strong suspicion old Sojiro’s tryina go legit.”

“What, are you serious?” Gabe says. “What makes you think that?”

“Hang on, let me get my spreadsheets.”

Jesse taps at the keyboard for a moment while Gabe gazes at him in genuine astonishment. He had no idea his young protégé even knew what a spreadsheet was, let alone how to make one.

“Look here,” Jesse says, turning the screen so Gabe can see it.

Gabe leans forward and squints at it. “What am I looking at?”

“Well, let me explain. The Shizuoka prefecture is divided between the Shimada-gumi and the Imagawa-kai, rival clans that both got ancestral castles in the area. The Shimada one’s here in Hanamura, and the Imagawa one is about thirty miles away in Atami. Folks reckon the Shimada-gumi got a more legitimate claim to control the territory. It’s kinda hairy to work out, but it’s on account of their original daimyo clan bein’ a cadet branch of the imperial family, meanin’ they got noble blood and all that. The Imagawa’s daimyo clan was brung up out of the samurai, so they’re as common as regular folks. Anyhow, the Shimada-gumi been spreadin’ their influence and pushin’ Imagawa-kai operations back into other prefectures.” He points to the list of names on the left. “These are the towns that come under Shimada control in the past ten years. Here’s the interesting part. See these figures here?”

Gabe nods.

“That’s reported tax revenue for each year since the Shimadas took over. Most of ‘em doubled since then and a couple tripled. What’s that suggest to you?”

“More legitimate business in those areas paying taxes to the government.”

“Yep,” Jesse grins. “And look at this. Crime rates in Shimada towns have dropped to what they call ‘statistically insignificant,’ which is just fancy talk for pretty much no crime.”

“Interesting.”

“Sure is. And look here.” He clicks to a new spreadsheet. “These are tax revenues from Shimada-gumi business outfits. It’s been slower, but they been climbin’ up, too. As of now, their reported earnings and our intel folks’ estimates of their actual revenues is comin’ real close to matchin’ up.”

“This all seems like good news. What’s the problem?”

“So, a year or so back, the Imagawas suddenly started makin’ hostile incursions into Shimada territory and shakin’ shit up for the local businesses. That implies they think Sojiro’s goin’ legit, too, and they smell a power vacuum comin’. The Shimadas got it under control for now, but they’re in a sticky spot. If they take out the Imagawas, they risk an all-out war with the other clans. But if they don’t, and they keep lettin’ it slide, the Imagawas will get a hold of their territory. That happens, all the shit they done to make things better for folks won’t amount to nothin’. Everything’ll go back to drug trafficking and payin’ protection money and all that gangster shit. That’s how things was when them businesses was in Imagawa territory before.”

“That sounds pretty thorny, Jesse. What do you propose we do about it?”

“I say we try and get better read on Sojiro. If he’s really tryina go on the up-and-up, but he can’t on account of he’s stuck with the Imagawa mess, he might be willing to make a deal with us.”

“What kind of deal?”

“Well, if he don’t have a hand in takin’ the Imagawas down, then the Shimadas is out of the woods with the other clans. Sojiro can claim all that Imagawa territory, no problem. That’s where we come in.”

“You think Overwatch should take out the Imagawa clan for him?” Gabe says, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Jesse, that’s a massive risk, legally and financially. Say we do help them, and you’re wrong. What then? Then we’ve got a hugely powerful Yakuza family controlling twice the territory and in a position to exert an unacceptable amount of influence on the Japanese government. Not to mention, if anyone gets wind that we were involved on their side, we have a political disaster on our hands.”

“I know it, boss, but I ain’t wrong,” Jesse says emphatically. “That’s the beauty part. Ain’t no reason anyone should think we had any truck with the Shimadas. We been doin’ business with a company called Western Sky Logistics. It’s a legit operation, but its parent company is owned by the Imagawa clan. If we lay the groundwork by makin’ it look like we was doin’ an internal investigation of our supply contracts and we happened to find out one of our suppliers was in bed with the Yakuza, then we got enough to warrant lookin’ into the Imagawas. If we do that, we can find just cause to go in there and clean up.”

Gabe laughs. “But, Jesse, isn’t that pretty much exactly what happened? I mean, why involve the Shimadas at all?”

“Coupla reasons,” Jesse says. He leans back and lights a cigarette. “If the blue boys go in there guns blazin’, it’s gonna look like an assault on the Yakuza. Them clans’ll drop all that Hatfield and McCoy shit and close ranks faster’n you can say Jack Robinson. Sojiro won’t have no choice but to follow suit. Plus it’s all kinda wove together, so in order to get to the Imagawas, we can’t avoid steppin’ on some Shimada turf. But if we sorta sidle up to ‘em easy like and show ‘em respect and all that, we can give Sojiro a chance to make his intentions clearer to us without no one else knowin’ it.”

“How would you do that?”

“I’d send us in all covert-ops like. Officially we’d be there to investigate the Imagawas, but we’d try and make contact with the Shimadas and feel ‘em out. You know, get a read on ‘em, like I said. That way we don’t step on no toes that might be friendly to our interests. If I’m right,” he grins impishly, “and I am, we’ll be takin’ a big chunk outta the old hornet’s nest of organized crime in Japan.”

“Well…I mean, I can’t say you haven’t done the legwork,” Gabe says.

“I have, boss,” Jesse replies. “All’s we gotta do now is sneak in and spy around some to make sure.”

Gabe hesitates. He came here to send Jesse to Japan on a simple recon mission, but this is not what he’d expected to hear. The boy has worked up a real, actionable case that may turn into something much larger. Now that it sounds serious, he finds himself reluctant to let him go. Finally, he forces the words out.

“I was thinking…I’ve been looking for something that would give you a chance to spread your wings a little and get some field experience on your own, without me there looking over your shoulder. Maybe this would be a good mission for you to take on solo.”

Jesse eyes widen. “You mean go to Japan by myself?”

“What do you think? Could you handle that?”

“Shit, yeah, boss!” Jesse says, actually bouncing in his chair with excitement. “I just didn’t reckon on you bein’ too keen to trust me with a job like this. I always wanted to go out undercover and play like I was James Bond and all that mess.”

“Wait a minute, Jesse,” Gabe says, frowning. “This isn’t a game. This is a real job and I have to know you’re taking it seriously, or I won’t send you.”

“Aw, come on, boss. You know I was just excited about gettin’ a mission for my very own. I been takin’ it serious as death. See all the shit I done?” He indicates to the numerous spreadsheets and documents on the screen. “And look here. I even done a workup on possible entry points to the Shimada clan’s confidence.”

“Who are these people?”

“That’s Shimada Genji, Sojiro’s younger kid. He’s seventeen and he’s got a real active social media presence. I get the impression he ain’t too involved in the family business. This one here’s Shimada Hanzo, the older son. I’d say he’s the one who’s deep in daddy’s secrets.”

“That boy is like, four years old, Jesse.”

“Yeah, he’s got nothin’ social and no pictures posted anywhere. Only one I could find was this one. It was printed in a Japanese gossip magazine 15 years ago. Some paparazzo snapped it when he was out walkin’ on the beach with Sojiro and about twenty bodyguards.”

“You think Genji is a good entry point, then?”

“I reckon he’s my best bet. If I could make friends with him, I might be able to work my way closer to the old man.”

“Jesse, listen to me,” Gabe says sternly. “This is very dangerous ground to step onto. This boy is the son of a Yakuza clan master. If something goes wrong, or even if they decide they don’t like you hanging around with the master’s kid, they will kill you.”

“But I’m like to get killed every time we go out on a job,” Jesse protests. “I reckon this ain’t no more dangerous than the usual shit we do.”

“Yes, but if they capture you, I won’t be there to help. They may interrogate you, or even torture you. Are you prepared for that?”

“Boss, I don’t mean no disrespect, but I ain’t as green as you seem to think,” Jesse says, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air between them. He grinds his cigarette out in the ashtray. “I been interrogated before. Tortured, too.” He unbuttons the top three buttons on his shirt and pulls it open to reveal his bare chest. “What you think these scars was from? Playin’ tag?”

Between Jesse’s collarbone and midsection, Gabe can see a row of deep, ugly scars. They look to be the result of a series of burns with varying degrees of severity. He stares at his young friend, horrorstruck by the revelation. Jesse would have been a child when this was done to him.

“You…you never told me about it,” he says. “I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t mean to give you a jolt, boss,” Jesse replies apologetically, buttoning his shirt back up. “I thought you seen ‘em when we was at Tengboche.”

Gabe shakes his head. “Your chest was bandaged before I came to. When did this happen? How did it happen?”

“It was when I was fourteen. Some guys from the Hellrazors caught me out after dark one night. It was my fault for bein’ off by myself like that. I knew I wadn’t supposed to do it, but I had to get away and be on my own sometimes or I’d just go outta my senses. Anyhow, they seen my Deadlock tattoo, else they’da just gutted me and took my bike. Instead, they stuck me in a shack somewheres and started askin’ about my pa. See, they got the notion I was the chief’s kid, and they was anglin’ to get a ransom for me. So I played along till another one of ‘em showed up and told ‘em I was just an initiate and no relation to the chief. That got ‘em real mad. They beat me till they got tired of that, and then they set into me with a piece of rebar they heated up with a blowtorch.

I don’t know how long I was there, but it felt like days. Then their boss come. He took a look at me and started cussin’ like a demon. I never seen someone’s face so red. He picked up that rebar and I thought he was fixin’ to kill me then and there. But he turned around and started wallopin’ them fellas with it and cussin’ ‘em a blue streak from here to hades and carryin’ on so’s I didn’t know what was what. Turns out he heard the chief’s favorite gone missing and the Deadlocks was out lookin’ for me. If he got blamed for what happened, they’d rip him and his little two-bit gang apart and feed the pieces to the hounds.

He took me back to camp himself and made his men come too, and bring my bike. Hacksaw was so happy to see me alive, he didn’t stop smilin’ for a week. He let that other boss go ‘cause he brung me home, but he made him swear to god he’d leave New Mexico and never come back. And he told him he had to shoot them fellas that roughed me up himself. He done it, too. Right there in the middle of our camp. It made me sick to my stomach to see it, but I had to let on it was on account of the burns and shit. I reckon he was as good as his word about leavin’, cause I never heard nothin’ about the Hellrazors after that.”

“Jesus Christ, Jesse,” Gabe says, running his hand across his brow. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“I guess you can figure why I ain’t too keen on talkin’ about them things, boss. If I let that shit start comin’ up, I don’t know how to stop it. Then it’s all I can think about.”

“I’m so sorry. I wish…I wish you’d had a better life.”

“Ain’t nothin’ to do about it now, except just move on. So, you know how we was talkin’ about my Yakuza job? Could we maybe get back to it?”

“Yeah,” Gabe says distractedly. He shakes himself. “What’s, uh—what’s your cover going to be?”

“Well, Genji’s got a thing for American culture and western movies and all that,” Jesse says, brightening back up. “See here? This is a selfie he took in his bedroom. Look at all them posters and shit. I think I go there lettin’ on as if I’m a new, up-and-comin’ country music star and the studio sent me to work on my music in peace and quiet. That’ll explain why I got plenty of reason to be there and not want to be seen much, but I ain’t anyone they’da heard of in Japan yet.”

“That’s…actually really clever,” Gabe smiles. “But what if someone asks you to play a song?”

“Boss,” Jesse says reproachfully. “I been playin’ guitar since I was a kid. Mine’s in my room right now or I’d show you.”

“Well, fuck me,” Gabe says, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation. “I don’t know anything about you at all, do I?”

“Don’t appear you do, jefe. But I don’t know nothin’ about you, neither, so I guess we’re even.” Jesse lights another cigarette and reclines languidly in his seat. “So, how long you think it’ll take intel to seed my cover and set everything up?”

“Let’s see,” Gabe says, chewing his lip thoughtfully. “It won’t take much doing. We’ll have to make your travel arrangements and work up your credentials. Then…a couple of websites, some business cards, some low-key press mentions, and someone to answer the phone at the record label ‘office.’ And we’ll need to fake some publicity photos of you at a red-carpet event or something. So, a week. Maybe less.”

“Well alright, then.” Jesse rubs his hands together eagerly. “Hanamura, here I come!”

“Ok, calm down. It’s still a job. And I want you to write up the mission paperwork yourself. Have it done for me by tomorrow, ok?”

“Yes, sir. Just try and stop me.”

“What are you looking at me like that for?”

“I’m waitin’ for you to fuck off so I can get to work,” Jesse says, grinning broadly.

“Alright, you impudent little shit,” Gabe laughs. He gets up to go, then turns back. “You’re sure you want to do this, then?”

“Sure as death and taxes. Now go on, boss, mueva! I got shit to do!”

 

 


	73. Hanamura

It is a Friday evening in mid-May and Hanami has just ended for the season. The tourists have gotten their fill of the delicate, pink blossoms that blanket the island of Japan in a fairy-haze for a few fleeting weeks each spring, and the parks and avenues are quiet again. A tall, handsome, somewhat travel-weary young man with a guitar case strapped to his back enters the palatial lobby of the Tonbokiri Hotel. He approaches the front desk and gives his name as Jesse McCree.

They have been expecting him. He is booked in one of the best suites in the hotel for a full month, and a rumor as gotten abroad that he is an American music star visiting Hanamura to get away from the bustle of the big city and to relax in the peaceful resort-town’s renowned hot springs. Whatever the truth of his business may be, the hostesses find his boyish grin, cowboy hat, and tight-fitting blue-jeans immensely charming.

Two uniformed bellhops take his trunk and suitcase and follow as a demure, black-haired young woman named Ume escorts him to his room. The bellhops deposit his things on the floor by the dresser and vanish. Ume shows him his private outdoor mineral bath and explains the hotel’s room service and other amenities in beautifully accented English, made even more lovely by her sweet, lilting voice. She reminds him that she is only a call away if he needs anything at all, then bows and departs with Mr. McCree’s thanks.

Jesse rests his guitar case against the wall and takes a look around. This isn’t exactly what he expected, but it’ll do. The room is on the bottom floor, and is a large, western-style suite with modern Japanese décor. The private deck into which the mineral bath is built overlooks the pristine, white beach just a stone’s throw away. He pulls out his phone and types a text.

BWM-003: hey boss this is some real fancy digs

BWR-002: Jesse, if you don’t learn a word other than fancy, I am cancelling the mission.

BWM-003: hey boss this is some real swanky digs

BWR-002: Pendejo. Any trouble getting to the place?

BWM-003: nope the limo was waitin an it took me right to the hotel

BWR-002: Good. Get settled and set up your computer. I’ll activate the sat-link now, but it’ll take a little while for the satellite to find you.

BWM-003: on it boss

BWR-002: One day, I am going to teach you to use actual grammar and punctuation in your texts.

BWM-003: yeah well good luck with that

BWR-002: You little fuck. Report in before you go anywhere.

BWM-003: yes sir B-)

BWR-002: Ugh.

Jesse hoists his suitcase onto the bed and pulls his computer out of its sleeve. There’s a desk near the sliding-glass door to the deck, so he sets it up there. He ignores the prompt to connect it to the hotel’s wi-fi and waits for the satellite linkup icon to turn blue. Then he places his eye before the camera lens for the retinal scan. A banner appears that reads, “Welcome, Agent McCree. You are now connected to the Overwatch system.” He opens the Blackwatch tab on the homepage (only visible to Blackwatch agents) and pulls up his case file. As he does, an instant message pops up in the corner of his screen.

Reyes: Good, you got it working.

McCree: well the computer done it i just set here an waited

Reyes: Hang on a sec.

Reyes: I’m buying you a basic grammar primer.

McCree: you real funny tonight aint you boss

Reyes: I’m always funny. People just don’t get me.

McCree: well your sense a humors an acquired taste

Reyes: How can you know how to use and spell a word like “acquired” properly, but not how to construct a coherent sentence?

Reyes: It’s baffling to me.

McCree: oooh now coherent is a good word

McCree: ima use it first chance i get

Reyes: I can actually feel myself losing brain cells reading the way you write.

McCree: careful about that boss you aint got a lot a brain cells to lose

Reyes: Eat a dick.

McCree: that somethin they gonna have at the hotel restaurant or do I gotta go out to find it

Reyes: Ok, that was pretty funny.

Reyes: Jack laughed.

Reyes: He’s reading over my shoulder.

Reyes: He says to tell you hello.

McCree: hi commander hows it goin

Reyes: He says it’s going fine and he wants to know your plan for the evening. Are you thinking about trying any recon tonight?

McCree: if y’all think its a good idea

McCree: shit i don’t even know what time it is here

Reyes: You’re seven hours ahead of us, so it’s just after 2100 there.

McCree: lookit that my phone went and got on the local time itself!

McCree: who knew phones was so smart

Reyes: Jesus.

Reyes: I’m starting to have serious doubts about sending you on a mission alone.

McCree: its too late for that now boss

McCree: i might try to get the lay a the land a bit but the jet lag got me all messed up so i don’t think ima do much tonight if thats ok

Reyes: That’s fine.

Reyes: Jack says to get to bed early so you can start fresh in the morning.

McCree: boy the two a you sure is a coupla moms

Reyes: You could use some mothering, you little shit. Text me if anything comes up.

McCree: got it

McCree: later bosses

Reyes: Later, Jesse.

Jesse pulls out the black travel case containing his toiletries and shaving accoutrements and heads into the bathroom to freshen up. Satisfied with his appearance, he changes his red snap-front shirt for a black one and makes his way down to the hotel lounge. The sign above the arched entryway reads “Sinju” in roman characters (and what Jesse assumes denotes the same in kana). It is lit mostly by a large fireplace. The warmth of the fire and the candlelight glinting off the glossy, black-marble tables gives it something of a romantic atmosphere.

He chooses a corner booth and picks up the cocktail menu to give it a once-over, then orders whiskey, like always. He glances about him as he waits for his drink. A couple in evening wear are cozied up in a booth nearby, and several men in business suits are chatting with the bartender. There is an ashtray on his table, so he lights a cigarette and takes out his phone, switching it to the personal setting.

Jesse: i’m at my hotel. my rooms got a big ass hot spring bath

The waiter delivers a generous tumbler of whiskey and inquires after Jesse’s appetite. He says he reckons he’ll take a look at a menu, which the waiter hands him with a bow and then glides away. His phone lights up and vibrates on the table.

B: Sounds relaxing.

B: How’s the hotel?

Jesse: real swanky. can’t believe my boss is payin for this kinda place

Jesse: pity to waste it on just me

B: That is a pity. I hope you’re not too lonely.

Jesse: ima be too busy to be lonely much but i kinda wish you was here with me

B: What would we do if I was there?

Jesse: i reckon i’d stick you in that tub and give you a good scrubbin

B: Mmmm. I might need one. I’m very dirty.

Jesse: the dirtiest

Jesse: what you doin right now

B: Well, it’s 3 in the afternoon, so I’m just getting out of bed of course.

The next message is a close-up photo of Ben, complete with the obligatory sleepy smile and charmingly ruffled blonde hair. Jesse responds with a picture of his half-full whiskey glass and cigarette smoking in the ash tray, lit by the candle in such a way as to provide dramatic contrast with the black table.

B: Ooh, nice composition. Ok my turn.

The next picture is of such a nature that Jesse thinks it’s time to take the conversation to his room. He grabs the waiter on his way out, telling him the name and room number for the bill, then he makes his way back to his room, shuts the door, and flops onto his bed.

Jesse: those are some silly underpants you got on. where’d you get pink ones from anyhow?

B: Some guy bought them for me. He has terrible taste. ;)

Jesse: oh he does does he? well maybe he thinks you should take em off

B: You owe me a pic first.

Jesse unbuttons his shirt and undoes the fly of jeans, opening it just enough to expose his own briefs. He snaps the photo and sends it.

B: Ooh, red. Sexy.

A picture of Ben’s hand gripping his very erect cock comes back.

Jesse: why don’t you gimme a call darlin

B: One sec. My roommate is home so I’ve got to lock my door. Don’t want her walking in on anything too fun.

Jesse kicks off his boots and reclines against the headboard. After about three minutes, his phone vibrates with an incoming video call from Ben. The image pops up on the screen and Ben smiles brightly.

“Hey there, sugar,” Jesse grins. “How you doin’?”

“Hey Jesse,” Ben says. His voice is low and husky from sleep. “I’m missing you, obviously.”

“I can see that. You wanna tell me what you’re gonna do to console yourself?”

“Well…I’m about to use this.”

Ben turns the phone’s camera toward a metal chair positioned beside his bed. A very large, very realistic silicone dildo has been liberally lubed and attached to the seat by means of a suction cup behind its bulging testicles. Jesse’s cock responds instantly, swelling and straining against his underwear.

“You want to watch me?” Ben asks, turning the camera back to his handsome face.

“Yeah, baby.” Jesse eases his cock out of his underwear and begins to stroke it slowly. “Show me.”

The image hops and spins a bit and then Ben holds the phone out at arm’s length, angled down to show where he is straddling the chair. He spreads his knees wide and begins to lower himself onto the thing.

“Good,” Jesse says. “Tell me how it feels.”

“It’s…ah—it’s too big,” Ben pants, pausing as the head is just penetrating him. “I don’t think I can get it in me.”

“Take it, baby,” Jesse purrs. “I know you can.”

“Ah…fuck! It’s stretching me so much. I—I can do it.”

Ben bites his lip and lowers himself slowly, gradually impaling himself on the enormous, flesh-toned shaft as Jesse watches. Jesse’s cock throbs and begins to leak pre-ejaculate as he wrings it firmly with his right hand.

“Good boy,” he says. “Fuck yourself for me. Nice and slow.”

Ben begins to move up and down on the thing, stroking his cock and making sure to keep everything in frame. His moans are a little theatrical, but Jesse enjoys them nonetheless.

“Ride it, baby. I know you can take it harder’n that,” Jesse says.

He spits in his hand and fucks into his fist. Ben hangs onto the back of the chair for leverage, his chest pink and flushed with exertion and his rigid cock bobbing up and down as he bounces on the thing.

“Jesse…ungh,” he groans. “I’m—I’m so close—”

“I am, too,” Jesse says hoarsely. “Put the camera down there so I can see it goin’ in while you come.”

The image pulls in, giving Jesse a full view of the thing penetrating Ben’s asshole while his smooth, shaved balls dip in and out of the top of the frame.

“Come, sugar,” Jesse barks. “Come now!”

He hears Ben give a muffled cry. His thighs jerk convulsively and his asshole contracts and twitches on the huge, silicone shaft as he comes. Jesse comes at the same time, beating his cock feverishly till his ejaculation practically explodes out of him, spurting all over his stomach in rapid, intense bursts. He watches as Ben lifts himself up, sliding slowly off the toy till it pops out abruptly and wobbles back and forth on the chair. The image on the screen whirls and jumps about, then stabilizes on Ben’s face, framed by white pillows and grinning blissfully.

“You came, right?” he asks, with a self-conscious laugh. “I was a little…distracted.”

“Fuck yeah, I came,” Jesse says. He points the camera down at his stomach to show Ben the result of their play. “See the mess I made?”

“Wow. Looks like you enjoyed yourself.”

“I did. Thanks, darlin’. I needed that pretty bad.”

“My pleasure,” Ben says. Then he pouts his pretty lips. “I have to go now, though. I’ve got to get ready for work.”

“You go and do your thing,” Jesse says. “I’m fixin’ to hit the hay, anyhow. Bill me for the full hour, ok?”

“Oh.” Ben’s brow furrows slightly. “I didn’t mean to…I mean, don’t worry about it. We can just call it even, ok?”

“Naw, Ben, come on,” Jesse insists. “I don’t want you thinkin’ I don’t respect your time. I mean to pay you for your work, fair and square.”

“Ok, Jesse,” Ben says. He looks uncomfortable now, and Jesse wonders suddenly if he has done something wrong. “I’ll have Karl put it on your account. I gotta go.”

“You have a good night, darlin’,” Jesse replies, keeping his tone light and cheerful. “I’ll talk to ya soon.”

He feels as if there is something he is missing, but he can’t figure out what it is, so he just says goodbye and hangs up. He broods over the odd change in Ben’s behavior while he prepares for bed, but when he has finished bathing and brushing his teeth, he still hasn’t come up with a solution. He tosses his towel on the floor and climbs into bed to set his alarm for the morning. He forgets all about Ben as his mind overflows with thoughts of all the things he has to do tomorrow. The moment his head hits the pillow, he falls into a deep, untroubled sleep.

 

BWM-003: mornin boss

BWR-002: Morning, Jesse. How’s it going?

BWM-003: they stuck flowers on my fruit salad at breakfast. i picked em off cause i thought they was for decoration but the waiter said they was meant to be ate so ima try em tomorrow

BWR-002: Adventurous. Where are you headed first?

BWM-003: ima try that video game arcade Genji takes all them high score pics at

BWM-003: if he aint there i’ll scope out the town some more an see what i can see

BWR-002: Good. I was going to remind you to try to act like an oblivious American tourist, but I don’t think you’ll have any trouble with that.

BWM-003: well now you aint gettin a present

BWR-002: I’ll try to muddle along without one.

BWR-002: Be careful. And text me if you need anything.

BWM-003: will do boss

Jesse puts on a blue and white plaid snap-front shirt, grabs his hat, and steps out into the balmy spring morning. He breathes in the fresh, sea-scented air as he strolls the half-mile into the downtown shopping district of Hanamura. Looming in the distance above the town is the majestic keep of Shimada Castle. The brilliant sunlight reflected off its pristine, white walls makes his eyes water. He wonders vaguely what it’d be like to live in a castle like that, and if they have real samurai in there with swords and everything.

Hanamura’s shopping district is lively and bustling, but by no means crowded. He threads his way through an open-air flea market, pausing at a few stalls to admire jade figurines and richly-colored silk garments, and some replica katana and shuriken. Despite having just had breakfast, he is enticed by an attractive young woman to buy a couple of buttery, golden-brown cakes, which are baked in the shape of fish and contain some kind of sweet, red paste. He nibbles at one as he walks along, taking in the scene.

At first blush, he is a little disappointed. He’d had his head full of the idea that Japan was still like the images he’s seen in films set in the feudal era, but Hanamura is a fairly ordinary, modern town (if a bit cleaner and prettier than what he’s accustomed to). However, as he draws nearer to Shimada Castle, the buildings become older and more traditional, which he prefers to the western-influenced style of architecture on the outer perimeter.

He arrives at the video arcade, which has a huge sign bearing a skull-faced space man and proclaiming “16-Bit Hero” in blocky letters. Here, he meets his first hitch. It’s just past eleven and the place doesn’t open until noon. What to do now? He eyes the noodle shop across the street suspiciously. He thinks the garish sculpture of an alien eating noodles in a UFO on the corner of the building and the oily aroma coming from inside do not bode well. He passed by a little book shop on the way, and he decides he’ll go back there.

An elderly woman behind the counter greets him cheerfully as he enters through the open door. He inhales deeply and smiles as the delicate aroma of printed books fills his nostrils. Actual ink and paper books are not a common thing, nowadays, and something about them always reminds him of his mother. He wanders along the narrow aisles, gazing at the tall, densely packed shelves, and picking up a book now and then. He enjoys their heft and texture in his hand, the crisp sound of the pages ruffling as he flips through them, and of course, the unmistakable scent of printing ink and whatever adhesive is used in the binding process.

He replaces a thick volume on—some topic, he does not read Japanese—and turns a blind corner into the next aisle, just in time to run headfirst into another customer and send an armload of books tumbling to the floor. Jesse bends down hastily, mumbling an apology as he gathers them up, then stands to return them to their owner. He stops dead, with his mouth hanging open like a stunned carp. His throat goes dry and his wits temporarily desert him. He is looking into the face of the single most beautiful human being he has ever seen.

The face belongs to a Japanese boy about his own age, four or five inches shorter than himself. Despite the loose fit of his pale-blue silk garments, Jesse can see that he is athletically built and clearly in top physical condition. His skin is a flawless, pale-olive that contrasts exquisitely with his long, glossy, jet-black hair, which is tied back at the nape of his neck with a blue ribbon. He has a strong brow, his cheekbones are high and aristocratic, and his pouting, slightly dowturned lips are set firmly above a finely-cut chin and jaw. But it is his eyes that have stunned Jesse into silence. Keen, clear, bright-black eyes. Large and almond shaped and shaded by long, sooty lashes.

The boy extends his hands palm-upward to accept the books Jesse is still holding out to him. This motion breaks the spell and snaps Jesse back to himself.

“I’m, uh—I’m real sorry,” he says, fumbling to return the books. “I wadn’t watchin’ where I was goin’ and I run plumb into you. I must be more’n half donkey to be so clumsy.”

The boy blinks up at him silently.

“Oh, you probably don’t understand me,” Jesse says, apologetically. He gives an awkward bow. “ _Gomen nasai_. Which I think means sorry for bein’ an ass.”

At this, an almost imperceptible smile just curls the corners of the boy’s beautiful lips. Jesse is instantly reduced to shivering atoms.

“I…beg your pardon,” the boy says slowly. His voice is soft and sonorous and his speech is heavily accented, as if he has had very little practice speaking English. “I should have been…more careful.”

“Naw, it really was my fault,” Jesse says. He pushes back the brim of his hat and holds out his hand. “I’m Jesse. Jesse McCree.”

The boy looks blankly at Jesse’s hand, then back up at his face. He bows. “Shimada Hanzo.”

Jesse’s heart skips a beat. His stomach is fluttering as if he’s swallowed an entire swarm of butterflies and they are attempting to escape. This must be the elder son of the Master of the Shimada Clan. He has literally run headfirst into him. He stuffs his hands into his pockets to stop them from trembling. He has to stay cool. Keep his wits about him. He takes a breath.

“Shimada,” he says musingly, keeping his voice admirably steady. “Like the name of that there castle over yonder?”

“Yes. Like the name of the castle,” Hanzo says noncommittally.

Jesse decides to ease off. No sense in spooking him. “So, I guess you’re from around these parts, huh?”

Hanzo’s eyes flicker rapidly over Jesse’s person, as if he is sizing him up.

“I am from…around these parts, yes,” he replies.

Jesse detects the irony in the boy’s repetition of his phrasing. He feels his ears flush with indignant heat as his native pride flares up. But he controls his temper and smiles affably.

“I got a funny way of talkin’, I know. If you really wanna laugh, though, you should hear me tryina talk Japanese.”

Hanzo looks down at his books, appearing to be somewhat chastened by the American’s courteous response to his subtle jibe.

“I did not intend to laugh at you, Mr. McCree,” he says carefully, pronouncing the surname trisyllabically, so that it sounds like _ma-coo-ree_. “Your manner of speaking is…quite unique.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, if you don’t mind,” Jesse grins. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to know what a fella can do for fun around here, would ya? I just come in last night and I’m loster’n Bo Peep’s sheep.”

“I do not often have time for…recreation,” Hanzo replies, a slight edge of impatience creeping into his voice. “Your hotel concierge can certainly provide information of that nature.”

Jesse’s smile fades. “Ah. Yeah, I suppose they could.”

The boy gives a curt bow. “I must go. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. McCree.”

His silk garments rustle as he strides briskly away toward the cash register.

“Likewise, Shimada Hanzo,” Jesse calls after him. Then he mutters under his breath, “Ya fuckin’ snot-nosed princess.”

He lingers behind a rack of magazines, surreptitiously observing as Hanzo completes his purchases and leaves the shop. Maybe he’ll have better luck with the younger brother. If he isn’t so arrogant and unfriendly as his older sibling, that is. Hanzo is all ice and razor blades head to toe. But he’s so goddamn beautiful. Jesse sighs.

He attempts to return his attention to the cornucopia of books at his fingertips, but they have lost their luster in the glorious wake left by the appearance of that earthbound seraph. He thinks the arcade must be open by now, so he takes a book at random from a shelf and approaches the counter.

“Ah, excellent choice,” the white-haired cashier says. She adjusts her thick spectacles to examine the book he has chosen. “You are a friend of the young master?”

“The, uh…the young what?”

“I saw you speaking with young master Shimada a moment ago.”

She has produced a roll of brown paper from somewhere beneath the counter and is meticulously wrapping the book in it.

“Oh, right. Naw, we ain’t friends. I only met him just now and I don’t reckon he liked me too much.”

“Perhaps you are correct,” she replies serenely, placing the wrapped book in a bag. “But perhaps not. He instructed me to charge anything you wished to purchase today to his account.”

“He instructed you to—he paid for my book, you mean?” Jesse says, bewildered.

“Indeed.” She smiles sweetly as she proffers the bag to Jesse. He takes it, not knowing what else to do. “Have a lovely day Mr. McCree. I hope that you enjoy your stay in our city.”

“Thank you kindly, ma’am,” Jesse says, tipping his hat and retreating hastily from the shop.

He finds he is more irritated by Hanzo’s bizarre gesture the more he thinks about it. It strikes him as patronizing. Not only that, but as a demonstration of his influence in the town, meant to remind the American outsider of his place. His cheeks flush with indignation again, and he has a sudden urge to toss the book into a nearby waste bin. He fights it down and takes out his phone.

BWM-003: hey boss i just run into that older Shimada boy in a bookstore. he’s a fuckin piece a work let me tell ya

BWR-002: What do you mean? You talked to him?

BWM-003: i mean i run smack into him walkin around a corner. we talked for a second but boy howdy is he a fuckin snob

BWR-002: Jesse, please tell me you didn’t just piss off Sojiro Shimada’s son.

BWM-003: i don’t reckon so but he sure pissed me right off. i never seen someone so arrogant in my life

BWR-002: Well, he’s basically Japanese nobility, Jesse.

BWM-003: don’t give him no call to do patronizing shit an talk down to me an whatnot

BWR-002: Patronizing how?

BWM-003: i went to ring up an the clerk tells me he said he’d pay for whatever i was buyin

BWM-003: just put it on his bill

BWM-003: can you believe that shit

BWR-002: You might be taking it the wrong way. Maybe he meant to be courteous.

BWM-003: in a pigs eye. he meant to show me who was boss around here is what

BWM-003: he got all high an mighty about my way a talkin too

BWR-002: Jesse, listen to me. For the love of god, do not insult the Shimada clan.

BWM-003: i’ll try my best

BWR-002: No, Jesse. Say to me that you will not insult them. Swear it, or I’ll bring you home right now.

BWM-003: ok ok i swear

BWM-003: christ on a sunday picnic

BWM-003: you know i do know what i’m about boss. i aint gonna act the fool just on account a my pride gettin stomped on by a snooty little prince like him

BWR-002: Good. I expect nothing less from you. What happened to the arcade? I thought you were going there first.

BWM-003: it was closed still. i’m headin over there now

BWR-002: Ok. Just keep your temper under control. And don’t forget what you’re there for. You’re doing a job.

BWM-003: yes sir

 

 

Gabe knows before the sun comes up what kind of day today will be. Before Jack is even awake, he has sent messages to Zenyatta and Dr. Oshima letting them know they will be needed. They don’t question him, they simply say they’ll be there. He is never wrong about his husband’s mental state. Jack has good days and bad days, and over the past few months, Gabe has learned to predict which one is coming. He feels Jack stir restlessly beside him again, as he has been doing all night. He sighs. Today is going to be a bad day.

It never gets easier, but at least he has learned to prepare himself. Today, when his husband opens those beloved, sapphire-blue eyes and stares vacantly at him as if he is a stranger, or shrinks in horror from his touch, or strikes out at him violently and screams that Gabe is dead and he is only some monster wearing Gabe’s face, he will be prepared to deal with it. To ignore his own suffering and be Jack’s constant support and anchor in the stormy sea. Just as he always has.

The violent episodes are the most difficult. Not for any physical reason—Gabe is many times stronger than Jack now, and has no trouble restraining him—but because they touch the root of his deepest, most secret fear. The fear that he is becoming something other than himself.

He knows logically that this is not true. Angela has explained it to him again and again. There are not enough of the nanites in his cerebral cortex to have replaced his natural brain function. They are replacing it, but gradually and cell by cell. As long as his consciousness is not severed, he will never not be himself. But at times, a deep, visceral horror will suddenly grip him in its icy jaws, as he realizes that every cell in his body is being steadily supplanted by microscopic machines. That his body is already more than half machine and that one day, he will be all machine.

There is no one to whom he can describe the dread and desolation this knowledge causes him to suffer. No one who would understand. There was one who would have understood, but he is dead. _He is dead and he lives inside me._ This is a dichotomy that Gabe has come to accept as part of his reality. He wishes more than anything to talk to Noah again, to beg for his help understanding these things that keep him alive, but he cannot allow himself to do it.

Angela thinks that this is because the idea of Noah’s memory existing in Gabe’s mind was so troubling to Jack. The truth is much simpler. He is afraid. He is afraid of what Noah’s memory will teach him about himself. Terrified beyond his capacity to reason that he will find out he is no longer Gabriel Reyes. That he is a machine pretending to be a man. That Gabriel Reyes is dead and that he is, in very truth, only the monster that now wears his face.

“Noah.”

Jack’s voice, speaking aloud the name upon which he has just been meditating, shakes Gabe abruptly out of his reverie. He glances up at Zenyatta and Dr. Oshima, then looks into Jack’s pale, haggard face.

“Noah,” Jack rasps, in a strained, gritty voice. He rolls onto his side, his body doubled up in pain. “I…I remember him.”

A warm, golden light originates somewhere near the center of Zenyatta’s body and emanates outward, bathing the room in its comforting glow. Jack takes a long, shaky breath and his muscles begin to unwind and relax. As his respiration returns to normal, Dr. Oshima prompts him to continue.

“Tell me about Noah, Jack,” she says gently. “What do you remember?”

“He died,” Jack says. “He was our friend and he died.”

He reaches out and grips Gabe’s hand tightly. Gabe returns the pressure and nods reassuringly.

“He kissed me once. But he…he was in love with Gabe.” His voice wavers with emotion. “And Gabe loved him, too. No, honey, it’s ok. I know you did. It’s ok now.”

“I didn’t ever love him the way I love you,” Gabe says quietly.

“I know. And I know your feelings for him never meant you loved me any less.”

A look of pained confusion passes over Jack’s face, slowly shifting into recognition as the memory blooms and unfolds in his mind. He looks up at Gabe, blinking back tears. Gabe nods and squeezes his hand again.

“The rest of this is private,” Jack says, turning to the doctor. “I’d like to keep it between my husband and me.”

“Of course,” she says. “You don’t have to tell me everything. The important thing is that you talk about it together.”

“We will. This is—ah!”

Jack gives a cry and curls up into a fetal position as the cascade of connected memories roars into his head in a blinding tumult of images and noise. The brilliant light from Zenyatta’s body expands and intensifies. It filters into Jack’s troubled mind and eases the pain. Quiets the raging tempest so that he can make sense of the chaos and put things in their right places. He takes another deep breath and slowly releases it, setting his mind free to wander among the fragmented ruins of a once-whole consciousness.

Russia, the Bogatyr, Noah’s death, Gabe vomiting blood, the nanites that keep him alive. Noah’s memories taking over Gabe’s mind, the electric shock therapy he underwent to stop them. A deep, black pit of guilt over the fear and selfishness that made Jack demand Gabe rid himself of the memories of his dead friend. Then the cool, clear light of hope just dawning over the horizon. He has a chance now, to make this right. To be the man Gabe deserves.

Hours later, after Zenyatta and Dr. Oshima have gone, Jack lies exhausted in Gabe’s arms. Gabe is stroking his hair and humming softly to himself. He doesn’t realize he’s doing it. Jack knows this and the knowledge fills his heart with poignant, tender warmth. These little, intimate details about his husband are more precious to him than any of the major, life-event level memories he has recovered. He can’t imagine anything more important than knowing the man he loves better than he knows himself.

“Gabe?”

“Hm?”

“Will you forgive me?”

“For what, baby?”

“For Noah. For forcing you try to forget him.”

“You didn’t. I made my own choices.”

“But you did it to make me happy.”

“I did.”

“Could you…recover his memories now? If you wanted to?”

“I don’t know. It’s been a long time.” Gabe sighs and buries his face in Jack’s pale-blonde hair. “A long time.”

 


	74. Family

Jesse stuffs his phone into his pocket and turns onto the street where the arcade is located. Much to his chagrin, he sees Hanzo on the street outside the arcade, about thirty yards away. He is wearing a severe expression and addressing a group of well-dressed teenaged boys. The one in the center of the group is clearly Genji, as his hair is dyed a positively radioactive shade of green. It’s too late for Jesse to do anything but continue toward the arcade, so he slows his pace to a stroll and tries to look nonchalant.

Hanzo glances in Jesse’s direction and sees him coming down the sidewalk, but he does not make any sign that he recognizes him. He turns back to the group, says some more rapid words in Japanese, then pivots on his heel and stalks off in the opposite direction. As he departs, the other young men laugh and jostle Genji. Whatever they are saying, he seems to take in good spirit, as he laughs as well. Since they are standing in the street and Jesse is on the sidewalk, he thinks he will be able to pass unobtrusively and enter the arcade, but just as he places a hand on the door, a voice stops him.

“American!” it calls out merrily.

Jesse turns to see Genji grinning and beckoning to him.

“Yes, American,” Genji repeats. “Please, speak with me for a moment.”

Jesse waits as he approaches. The other boys follow him, but they pass by Jesse and enter the arcade, presumably to allow him and Genji to talk privately. Jesse finds himself immediately inclined to like the boy. His entire manner is open and jovial, rather than graceful and arrogant. He is taller than his companions, only a couple of inches shorter than Jesse, which is very tall for a Japanese boy of seventeen. He is leanly muscular and quite handsome, though not so exquisite as his brother. He is wearing skin-tight, very stylish black jeans and a fitted magenta t-shirt with the mystifying words “Huge Beetle” printed on it in gold paint-spatter lettering.

“Howdy,” Jesse says, tipping his hat “Yeah, I’m American. What can I do for you?”

“I am Shimada Genji,” Genji says, extending a hand.

Jesse takes it and gives it a hearty shake. “Jesse McCree.”

“I wish to apologize for my brother’s behavior, Jesse McCree.”

“Your…brother’s behavior?” Jesse says, confounded by the oddly specific overture.

“You saw that man speaking to me just now, yes?”

“I did, yeah.”

“He is my brother. He said that he met you in the book shop a moment ago and that you caused him to drop his books onto the floor.” Genji grins mischievously. “I can only assume that as a result, he insulted you in some way and so, I apologize.”

“Well, I mean, he wadn’t particular friendly,” Jesse says, returning the smile. “But I didn’t take no offense, so there ain’t no need to apologize.”

“You are very polite, Jesse McCree. My brother is not a friendly person. I assure you that it was not due to any personal cause.”

“Just Jesse, please.”

“You are visiting Hanamura for the first time, Jesse?”

“Yep. First time I been in Japan or anywhere outside the good ol’ USA, really.”

“How do you find our city?”

“It’s real pretty here and everyone’s been just as neighborly as they can be. Well, _most_ everyone.” This elicits a chuckle from Genji. “But it don’t seem like there’s a lot a fella can do to keep entertained hereabouts.”

“You are certainly correct. I am often bored when I am at home. I saw that you were going into the arcade. Would you care to join me for a game?”

“I dunno, I wouldn’t wanna impose…” Jesse says, careful not to sound too eager.

“Nonsense,” Genji replies. “I would be very pleased to have your company. It is not often that we have an American visitor.”

“Alright then,” Jesse says. “That’s mighty kind of you, thanks, Shimada Genji.”

Genji grins. “Just Genji, please.”

Jesse can’t quite believe his luck. His first morning in Hanamura, and he has not only met both Shimada sons, he has been invited to take part in a social activity with one of them. Had he a clearer understanding regarding the smallness of the town and the proximity to the castle, he might not be quite so astonished, but as it is, it seems to him to be nearly miraculous.

He follows the green-haired boy inside the arcade, which is a lit with neon and black lights and the glow of a multitude of video game screens, all flashing with brilliant-colored graphics and lists of high-scoring players. They head up the center staircase to find Genji’s friends crowded about a machine called “Fighters of the Storm,” laughing and teasing the two who are playing. They move aside as Genji approaches and introduces Jesse. They appear to enjoy Jesse’s name thoroughly, repeating it enthusiastically as they make their bows.

“Jesse, would you like to play?” Genji asks, taking up a position before the machine.

Jesse eyes it doubtfully. “Maybe I better watch you first. I ain’t never played video games before.”

The group manifests deep shock and a touch of sympathy.

“Never played video games!” Genji exclaims. “You are a real cowboy then? From the wild west?”

Jesse winks roguishly. “The wildest.”

“That is very exciting,” Genji says. “You must tell me more of it. I always wanted to meet a real cowboy like Jesse James and the Outlaw Josie Wales.”

“Well, I’m about as real a cowboy as they come, nowadays,” Jesse replies. “But we didn’t have much in the way of arcades out in the desert, so I ain’t had no practice on video games.”

“Come, Jesse, the best way to learn is by doing,” Genji insists. “I will show you.”

Jesse sets the bag containing his book on a nearby table and stands where Genji indicates before the machine. Genji explains the function of each button and joystick, which Jesse does his best to understand, and then presses a button that causes the screen to say “Get Ready” in big, red letters. This is followed by a brief countdown, and then the word “Fight!”

Jesse makes a valiant attempt to parse the frenzied activity on the screen, Genji coaching and encouraging him all the while. The other boys offer boisterous support from the sidelines, politely pretending to be impressed by Jesse’s performance. When it appears that the game is finished and Genji has won, Jesse shakes his hand affably and congratulates him.

Genji laughs heartily. “That was only the first round, Jesse! Look, we are beginning again!”

Jesse grabs hold of the joystick just in time to evade and attack by Genji’s character and start pounding frantically at the buttons again. By the time the game has actually ended, he realizes that more than an hour has passed and he needs to check in with the Commander. He has actually been enjoying himself, playing games with boys his own age. He wonders what it would’ve been like having friends like this when he was growing up out in the dust-scoured wastes of New Mexico. Probably a lot less lonesome. He excuses himself to the restroom and sends a text.

BWM-003: hey boss i found Genji at the arcade and we been playin some fighting game

BWM-003: well he been playin i been standin here gettin my ass whooped

BWR-002: Good. How does the situation feel to you? Any chance you’ll be able to get friendly with him?

BWM-003: i reckon so he already mentioned the wild west and how i gotta tell him all about it

BWR-002: Very good. Just watch yourself, ok? He’s a teenager, but he’s been raised by a Yakuza family. He might be more wary than he seems.

BWM-003: i gotcha boss

BWM-003: i better get back

BWR-002: Don’t do anything stupid.

BWM-003: boss i dunno if you met me but i ain’t survived as long as i have by doin stupid shit

BWR-002: I know, Jesse. Report in by 1400 your time, alright?

BWM-003: 1400 got it

Jesse returns to find Genji and his companions making ready to depart, much to his disappointment. He picks up his bag and sticks out his hand to shake Genji’s.

Genji shakes it vigorously, then asks, “What are your plans for the afternoon, Jesse?”

“I reckon I’ll just drift about and take in the sights some more. You got any idea what a fella should do for fun hereabouts?”

“A fella should come with us,” Genji says, grinning brightly. “We are returning to my home to dine and then we will go out to a dance club later in the evening. Would that be agreeable to you?”

“That’d be pretty agreeable to me. You sure it’s alright, though? I’d be imposin’ on your hospitality twice in one day.”

“Of course it is alright, cowboy! I would very much like to show you my city and learn your impressions.”

“That’s mighty kind of you,” Jesse says, pushing back the brim of his hat. “Ok then, I accept.”

“Ok then,” Genji repeats, as if he likes the way it sounds.

Jesse finds himself strolling down the street by the side of his new friend, utterly delighted with how well his plan seems to be proceeding. The other boys follow a few paces behind them, chatting amongst themselves. After a very few minutes, they arrive at the imposing gates of Shimada castle, which are apparently kept shut, even during the daylight hours. Jesse glances uneasily at the large, armed guards, anticipating some kind of explanation regarding who he is and why he is being brought into the stronghold. However, Genji simply waves a hand and the guards bow low, swinging the gates aside and allowing the group to pass in without hindrance.

“Welcome to my home,” Genji says, spreading his arms wide to encompass the entire grounds. “This is Shimada Castle.”

“It’s beautiful,” Jesse says sincerely. “Thank you.”

Beautiful does not even begin to describe his appreciation of the place. To him, it looks as if a chunk of heaven dropped right out of the sky and landed on a hilltop in Japan. The grounds are pristine and airy, and serenely silent, but for a gentle breeze rustling in the ornamental cherry trees, which soften the brilliant sunlight and tint it with their gentle, pale-pink hue. The buildings remind Jesse of ancient Japanese temples, like where the Kung-Fu monks always live in the movies.

The entire place radiates an aura of restful tranquility and freedom from the clutter and bustle of the outside world such as Jesse has never experienced. He follows his friend, gazing about dreamily and listening raptly to his descriptions of each structure and its function. At the end of a long, winding path, they arrive at a wide, multi-level building with a garden visible on the far side.

“This is my room,” Genji says, sliding the door open.

“This whole thing is your room?” Jesse says, astonished.

“It is mine and my brother’s. Our bedrooms are there, and there,” Genji says, indicating to hallways leading off opposite sides of the massive main room. “We share the common space for dining, training, and entertaining guests. Though my brother has no guests but his tutors.”

It is only now that Jesse notices the group of boys from the arcade haven’t accompanied them into the building.

“Say, where’d all your friends go?” he asks, looking around.

“They have gone to their own quarters. They are not permitted to dine with me inside the castle,” Genji replies, as if it is the most natural thing in the world.

“Oh, I see,” Jesse says, not seeing at all.

“You Americans do not have such customs?”

“Well, I don’t know if we do. I never been in a situation where it come up.”

This elicits another merry laugh from Genji. “You are very funny, Jesse. The servants will bring food to us here, if you would like. Or we can eat outside, if you prefer.”

“Oh, outside, please,” Jesse says. “It’s so pretty I could just sit and look at the trees and things forever.”

“Very well,” Genji says, bowing cordially. “I will order our refreshment to be brought to the garden.”

The two boys pass through the silent, immaculate hall and out a back door, from which the garden is accessed. Genji bids Jesse to explore freely and jogs off to give the appropriate orders to the servants. Jesse wanders about the garden, soaking in every detail of the scenery. The delicate flowers, the lush greenery, the pristine walks and stately walls. He is musing distractedly on the differences between Japanese castles and New Mexico trailer parks, when he passes under an archway just in time to feel the very breath of an arrow as it flies past within centimeters of his face.

His stomach drops and his head spins with the shock of the close call he’s just had. He clutches his pounding heart and grips the wall to steady himself, looking where the arrow has gone. The blue-feathered shaft has buried itself deep in the center of a straw training target in front of a high stone wall. He turns to look in the direction from which it came, where he can hear a voice exclaiming angrily in Japanese. The apparent archer, from whom the indignant Japanese words are emanating, is a little way off toward the building containing Genji’s room, and approaching very rapidly. It’s Hanzo. Jesse straightens himself up to his full height as the archer strides angrily to meet him and glares up into his face.

“You!” Hanzo says, recognizing him as the clumsy American from the bookstore. “What are you doing in my house, aside from behaving foolishly? I almost killed you.”

“I came with Genji,” Jesse snaps back, feeling his face flush with heat. “What in sam-hell are you doin’ shootin’ at folks with a bow and arrow like you’re Robin Hood or somethin’. Who uses a bow and arrow nowadays anyhow?”

“Of course you came with Genji,” Hanzo snorts derisively. “My brother has poor judgement in most things, not the least with whom he chooses to associate himself.”

Jesse swallows his anger and forces it down into a cold little ball in the pit of his stomach. He knows how to deal with men who’ve got too big for their britches. He’s done it before and this little prince ain’t no different.

“That’s heavy artillery to level at a fella you just met and almost killed,” he says coolly. He cocks an eyebrow and flashes a rakish grin. “You don’t know the first thing about me, Shimada Hanzo.”

This sudden shift appears to have caught the other young man off-guard. That, or he has simply remembered to restrain his temper.

“You are correct,” he says, his face smoothing into a more placid, though still haughty expression. “I apologize for my discourtesy.”

“Well, I better apologize too,” Jesse says, gliding effortlessly into genteel charm. “I was wanderin’ around with my head all in the clouds on account of the place bein’ so beautiful, and I didn’t see the targets and things. I didn’t mean no offense about the bow and arrow, neither. I just never saw someone use ‘em before, is all.”

“You…find our home beautiful?” Hanzo says, eyeing him doubtfully.

“I never seen anything half so beautiful in my life,” Jesse replies, gazing steadily into the black eyes.

Hanzo turns away quickly and appears to be making some small adjustments to his bowstring. At that moment, Genji’s cheerful voice comes echoing across the courtyard.

“Jesse, there you are! I see you have found my brother. Is he boring you to death already?”

“I am not boring,” the archer says, shooting his brother an icy glare. “I am responsible.” He turns back to the interloping cowboy and bows stiffly. “My apologies for the accident, Mr. McCree. Please be more careful in the future. Particularly when entering the training yard.”

With that, he turns on his heel and departs in the direction from which he came.

Before Hanzo is out of earshot Genji says, “Do not take it personally, Jesse. Hanzo hates everyone.”

“I reckon he don’t like me too much, that’s for sure,” Jesse says, gazing after the retreating archer.

He is no longer entirely certain this is the case, however. He wouldn’t bet his last nickel on it, but he’d almost swear he saw those lofty cheeks flush ever so slightly as Hanzo had turned away to look at his bow.

They make their way to roofed structure in the garden that Genji calls a tea house, but Jesse thinks looks an awful lot like a gazebo. They seat themselves on mats placed on the bamboo floor, and their meal is served to them by silent servants in black silk kimonos. Genji laughs to see Jesse’s obvious discomfort with being waited upon. He has been laughing at Jesse’s behavior quite a bit, in fact, but there is no hint of ridicule in it. It is obvious that he is delighted with this strange American and the novelty of his cowboy manners.

Even if his laughter had been malicious, however, Jesse would not have noticed at that moment. All of his attention is absorbed in the food. He finds his senses treated to a series of spectacular new delicacies, none of which he knows the names for and all of which he thoroughly enjoys. As they eat, he describes the incident with the arrow, to Genji’s boundless amusement. When they have finished, the servants reappear to clear away the dishes, and the two boys stroll in the garden together.

“Jesse, may I ask what has brought you to Hanamura?” Genji asks. “Our town is not a well-known destination for American tourists.”

“Well, I reckon the reason they sent me here is on account of it’s bein’ pretty quiet, like. Not a lot of distractions, y’know?.”

“Who?”

“You ever hear of Sweetwater Records?”

“No.”

“That’s alright, cause I ain’t supposed to say nothin’ anyway. But I figure I can trust you, so…I signed a deal with ‘em and I’m here workin’ on songs for a new record.”

“You are a musician?” Genji says eagerly. “Country and Western music?”

“Yep, that’s right.”

“That sounds very exciting.” He sighs wistfully. “I would love to be a music star. To travel around the word and have all of those pretty girls chasing after me.”

Jesse laughs. “It ain’t really that exciting. I ain’t famous or nothin’.”

“Ah, but you will be! And you must play a concert in Japan so that I can see you!”

“Well, I’ll see what I can do.”

Their meandering walk eventually leads them back to the boys’ hall and Genji’s room, where Genji is excessively anxious to show Jesse his collection of rare vintage video games. They sprawl out on cushions on the floor and Genji attempts to walk Jesse through the opening mission of something called “Metal Gear Solid.” The object of the game, from what Jesse can tell, is to test the player’s patience with the nearly indecipherable controls, till they give up or go insane. At last, he hands the controller over to Genji, fully content to watch the younger boy play and listen to him describe the story arc of the game series as he lazes on the cushions.

“You see, if you equip Sniper Wolf’s handkerchief,” Genji is saying, “the wolves will no longer be hostile toward you in the tunnel section, because they recognize her scent. Then you can avoid killing them.”

“That’s pretty clever,” Jesse says. “I thought video games was all about killin’ everything and lettin’ God sort ‘em out.”

“Normally, but the theme of finding nonviolent solutions is very important in this series.”

Jesse rolls onto his back and stretches out his long limbs. His joints are stiff and sore from his international journey and from the day’s demands on him.

“Hey, Genj,” he says, already using an affectionately abbreviated name for his friend, who he genuinely likes immensely. “I don’t know if I feel so much like goin’ to a rowdy dance club tonight. Would you mind too much if I begged off?”

Genji sets down the controller and looks anxiously into Jesse’s handsome face. “Are you unwell, Jesse?”

“Naw, it ain’t like that. It’s only I’m awful tired from travelin’ and all that mess and I think I’d rather do somethin’ quiet tonight.”

“But you would like to spend time with me, yes? If we chose a more quiet activity?”

“Oh, no—I mean, yes. I’d like that very much, but I don’t want to throw a wet blanket all over your fun just on account of I’m outta sorts. You should go.”

“Nonsense,” Genji says, his usual cheerful grin returning. “I have been to many such dance clubs many times. I only go because I am bored at home and become restless. But if you are with me, I will not be bored or restless. We can do anything you like.”

After some waffling and indecision on Genji’s part, they decide upon taking a walk to the hot spring baths across town near Jesse’s hotel, and then getting supper at one of the excellent restaurants in the area. Jesse excuses himself to the restroom to report in to the Commander again.

BWM-003: hey boss me an Genji’s goin to one a them hot springs

BWR-002: You were supposed to report in two hours ago. Where are you?

BWM-003: in Genji’s bathroom at Shimada Castle

BWR-002: Jesse. Are you telling me that you’ve been in Japan less than 24 hours and you’re already in the door of Shimada Castle?

BWM-003: looks that way yeah

BWR-002: Jesus Christ, boy. You must be doing something right. This is much better than I hoped for.

BWM-003: thanks jefe but it was just dumb luck I run into him right away

BWR-002: Well, keep it up, whatever it is. Maybe we can work something out with them, after all.

BWR-002: Check in again at 2300. Good work, mijo.

BWM-003: thanks boss

Jesse rejoins his friend in his enormous bedroom. Genji is lounging on his bed poking disgustedly at his telephone’s screen.

“I have terrible news, Jesse,” he says gravely. “My father insists that my brother accompany us this evening. I hope you do not mind. I will not allow him to be so unpleasant this time.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Jesse says, looking as though he minds very much. “No. Yeah. That’s just fine with me. More the merrier and all that. Y’all wouldn’t mind stoppin’ by my hotel for a minute, though, would ya? I gotta pick up my swimsuit and things.”

“Jesse, it is not permitted to wear a bathing suit in the onsen,” Genji says, stifling a laugh at Jesse’s startled expression.

Jesse is in a situation now. He has never been afflicted with what anyone would call excessive modesty. His body is universally admirable and he is not at all shy about nudity. But he finds the idea of being seen in nothing but his skin by that particular young man, especially in a public hot tub, little brother in tow and god knows who else around into the bargain, to be a distressing proposition. But going with the flow has worked out for him so far, so he screws up his courage and follows the two brothers out the front gate, figuring he’ll take the situation as it comes. As they exit the grounds, he sees that Genji’s friends from the arcade have joined them once again and are walking together, a few paces to the rear.

“How big are them hot tubs, Genj?” he says. “Enough to fit all of us?”

The younger boy looks confused. “The three of us?”

Jesse indicates to the group of young men behind them. “With your friends comin’ now, that makes eight of us.”

Genji laughs aloud.

“They are not our friends,” Hanzo says, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. “They are our bodyguards.”

“That a fact,” Jesse says. “What do you fellas need bodyguards for? I mean, you both look like you could handle yourselves in a scrap.”

“We can,” Genji says. “But our enemies would not attempt to kill us by engaging us in a fair fight. That would be foolishness.”

“I bet it would,” Jesse replies, eyeing the lithe, muscular arms of the archer who nearly put an abrupt end to his life a few hours earlier. “But I don’t understand. Y’all got enemies that might try and kill you?”

“They will not make an attempt on us here,” Hanzo says. “You need not fear for your safety. It is merely a precaution that our father requires us to take.”

“Oh,” Jesse nods. “Daddy’s a little overprotective. I get you.”

As this elicits no response from the taciturn archer, Jesse disregards him and chats companionably with Genji as they make their way across the little town.

The actual ordeal with the hot spring turns out to be far less trying than he’d anticipated. He lingers in the dressing room, and the brothers are already in the steaming water when he joins them. He drops his towel and slips into the tub, feeling a bit silly for worrying so much about it. Genji kicks his feet and splashes about, chatting enthusiastically with Jesse about whatever pops into his head, and Hanzo rests against the far side of the tub with his eyes and mouth shut. Jesse’s awkwardness wears off rapidly and the hot, mineral-rich water has a miraculous effect on his body. All the soreness and stiffness of intercontinental travel dissolves from his muscles and joints, and he leaves the soak refreshed and energized.

He is the first to be dressed, so he goes outside and lights a cigarette. Genji’s bodyguards are stationed about the perimeter of the place, a little distance away. Hanzo emerges next and stands against the wall a few feet from Jesse, arms crossed and silent as a sphinx. The sight of his pale, silky skin and glossy black hair, illuminated by the moonlight is almost too much for Jesse’s heart to take. He wonders if he’ll ever be able to look at anyone else again, after seeing this boy. Hanzo’s black eyes snap open and catch him staring.

“Howdy,” Jesse says, smiling sheepishly.

“Hello,” Hanzo replies.

“Y’know,” Jesse says, pushing back the brim of his hat, “howdy don’t mean hello. It’s short for how do you do.”

The black eyes dart up to his face, as if Hanzo is preparing a sharp retort. But once again, the severe expression smooths.

“I am well, Mr. McCree—”

“Just Jesse is fine.”

“I am well, Jesse. I trust you are also in good health.”

“Healthy as a mule,” Jesse says affably, taking the opening where he can get it. “Specially after that soak. I feel like a brand new day. I wish I’d known about hot springs before. I coulda been marinatin’ the soreness all outta me for years.”

“They are quite…useful,” Hanzo replies curtly.

Jesse turns to face the young man, exhaling a cloud of white smoke into the clear night air. He drops the butt of his cigarette and grinds it out under his boot heel.

“Tell me somethin’, Han-so,” he says, emphasizing the second syllable. “Why do you dislike me so much? I know I offended you earlier and got things off on the wrong foot and all, but I’m tryin’ my best to be friendly. All’s I want is to have a pleasant conversation, and you’re all spikes and thorns.”

“My name,” the young prince says icily, “is pronounced Hanzo.”

“Alright, Hanzo,” Jesse says, stung by the dismissive parry of his advance. “Have it your way then. Ain’t no rule that says we gotta be friends.”

They wait in silence, the archer brooding and the cowboy smoking, for what must be at least fifteen minutes. Jesse is finishing his third cigarette when Genji finally appears. As they walk away from the onsen, he observes a silent look of disapproval from the older brother, which is met by an acidic smile from the younger. He suddenly begins to think he does not entirely understand the relationship between these two strange siblings, and he decides he’ll have to be more alert to what passes between them from now on.

 

 

Gabe pushes open the door to Angela’s office and walks in without bothering to knock.

“Angela, I want to ask you something,” he says, seating himself in a chair before she has a chance to reply.

“Good morning to you, too, Gabriel,” she says. “I am glad you have come. I would like to speak to you about something as well.”

This response catches him somewhat off guard. “You wanted to—ok, what is it?”

“No, no,” she says, smiling sweetly. “Go right ahead.”

“Ok, well, I wanted to ask you about Jesse.”

“How strange, I wished to speak to you on the very same subject. What do you want to ask about him?”

“Is Jesse…is he genetically enhanced? Like Jack and I?”

“Ah, I see.” She shakes her head. “You are not asking the right question.”

“I’m not asking—what do you mean?”

She laughs her musical little laugh. “Oh, Gabriel. Sometimes I think that the cognitive aspect of your enhancement simply did not take. I had assumed you would have worked it out by now. I am shocked that you have not, in fact.”

“Worked what out?” Gabe says irritably. “Why does everything have to be a god damned riddle with you, Angela?”

“I do not mean to be vague. I have wanted to speak with you about this for quite some time, but I needed Jesse to be out of the way before I broached the subject.”

Gabe crosses his arms and taps his foot impatiently.

“Please attempt to remain calm,” she says, studying his face closely. “Gabriel…Jesse is your son.”

Gabe freezes in place, staring at her in stupefied silence. This is absolutely the last thing he expected to hear.

“I know it is quite a lot to take in,” she says gently. “That is why I wanted Jesse to be away before I told you. So that you would have time to adjust to the idea before you see him face to face again.”

“I don’t—I don’t believe you,” Gabe rasps. He attempts to swallow in a dry throat. “I don’t—I haven’t…”

“I know you are homosexual, Gabriel,” she says, arching a blonde eyebrow. “But there is more than one way to skin a cat, just as there is more than one way to make a baby.”

“How, Angela. How can this be true.”

“I am the top genetic scientist in the world. This is not even close to the most challenging thing I have done. It was a simple matter of joining your genetic material with the ova of a compatible female. Any fertility doctor could have done it.”

“You know that’s not what I mean,” he says. His expression darkens warningly. “Explain to me how I can have a…a son and how you can justify keeping it from me for twenty years.”

“That part is more difficult. At first, I did not tell you because I was uncertain what the result would be. There would be no use making you aware of the process only to find that none of the embryos had survived. After that, if your child—”

“Why did you do it in the first place?” he breaks in angrily. “I never gave you permission to take my genetic material and make a child.”

“Gabriel, if you will recall the agreement you signed with the Special Operations Group, I did not need your permission, nor even your knowledge. I am, effectively, the sole owner and proprietor of your DNA, as well as that of all the other HEAs.”

He knows she’s right, and that knowledge makes him angrier. He sits back in his chair, seething impotently.

“Listen to me,” she says. “Then you may rage and storm and do whatever you must do to relieve your feelings. After the first of your team members were killed in the Crisis, I began to fear it would claim all of you. I decided that it was my best option to—”

“To make a fucking backup copy of me? Like I’m a fucking hard drive?”

“No, Gabriel, to try to save some part of you, in case I lost you forever. You have to understand how difficult it is for me to admit that my motivation was not…was not scientific, but emotional. I could not bear the thought of losing you. I love you so much, Gabriel, the thought of your death was heartbreaking.”

“You keep saying you love me, Angela, but what it sounds like to me is that you care about me the way a breeder would care about a show dog.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head vehemently. “You do not understand. I have loved you since before I met you. I have—”

She breaks off abruptly. Gabe can see tears starting in her icy-blue eyes.

“Before…you met me?” he says warily. “What do you mean?”

“This is more than I intended to reveal to you,” she says, dabbing her eyes with her slender fingertips. “But perhaps it is better that I tell you the truth. Then you will understand my…particular attachment to you.”

“I’ll say.”

“I…I knew your father.”

Gabe’s mind, still reeling from the revelation about Jesse, flatly rejects this ludicrous assertion.

“Bullshit,” he says.

“No, it is true. Thomas can show you documentation. I have photographs of the three of us together, as well. Lieutenant Colonel Olivér Ignacio Reyes. He worked with us on a mission in 1977. We became friends. I…I loved him, in fact.”

“You…loved my…my father.” Gabe says numbly, staring into the middle-distance.

“I did. But I never told him. My asexuality was incompatible with what he desired most for his life, which was children. To have a large, loving family to carry on the Reyes name and traditions. Also he was devoutly religious, and I was not. That would have been impossible to reconcile. But I remained his friend at a distance. He was offered an SOG position, but he refused because he did not wish to leave his aging parents without their eldest son. We went our ways, but we corresponded through letters.

He married soon after and he sent me a photograph of himself with his new wife. Your lovely mother, Carolina Isabella Campos de Reyes. He called her Isa. He spoke of her as if she were the reason for the sun rising in the morning. They were very much in love, and I was genuinely happy for him. I continued to exchange letters with them both and over the years, they sent many photos of the children. The third of these was a beautiful baby boy named Gabriel. They called me his honorary Godmother, since I was not Catholic, and it could not be official. But, as time passed, we fell more and more out of touch, as is often the way with old friends.

When I heard of the accident from your family’s attorneys, it nearly broke me. I was tied up with my work and I could not get away, or I would have come to oversee your recovery myself. Your attorneys told me what measures were being taken to protect your rights and how you would be cared for. I was satisfied with their arrangements, and since you did not know me and I would not be able to see you often due to my work, I decided it would be best not to meddle in your life, other than to check in to see that you were doing well now and again.

Then, when I learned that you had joined the Army, to follow your family’s tradition of service, I began planning the HEA team around your participation. That was the biggest risk I took. If you had not remained with the Army, or you had not been interested in Special Operations, the whole thing would have had to be drastically reworked. Fortunately, you were very much your father’s son.”

“You’re telling me,” Gabe says slowly, “that you have been…you have been watching me. My whole life. That you…planned a US government-funded CIA task force…around me.”

“Around Olivér Reyes’ only surviving son, yes.”

“What the fuck, Angela. What the fucking fuck.” Gabe leans forward on his elbows, rocking back and forth. He gives an odd, almost hysterical laugh. “Then why did they reject me when I applied? Twice?”

“We were not ready for you. When the time came, I had Thomas personally see to it that you agreed to join us.”

“You had Thomas—yeah I guess that makes as much sense as the rest of it. But…you just happened to be working with the one man who I’d have done anything to work for? My childhood hero?”

“Why was Thomas Lawrence your childhood hero, Gabriel? Why not Superman or Neil Armstrong, like other children?”

“Because my father used to talk about him. Jesus Christ.”

“I am sorry, Gabriel. I did not mean to tell you this way. I did not mean to tell you at all, but you persist in distrusting my motives, no matter how many times I show you that I have your interests in mind. Perhaps this will help you understand me better in the future.”

“No. It doesn’t help me understand you better. It makes me sick. You’re…you’re a monster.”

“Monster is a only a word people use to describe something they do not understand. What have I done to you that makes you so sick, Gabriel?”

“Tell me something. Is there any part of my life in which I’ve actually made my own choices and not just been a puppet on your strings?”

“I have not been controlling your life. I have not even interfered in it, save for asking you to join the HEA program. Which, undoubtedly, has altered its path significantly. But I have not ever attempted to influence your choices.”

“What about choosing a child for me? I didn’t ask for a son.”

“Are you unhappy with my decision?”

“No. I—I’m not unhappy with it. All I—” his voice cracks with emotion and he presses his eyes with the heels of his palms.

“I know, Gabriel,” she says softly, leaning over to lay a soothing hand on his knee. “I know that all you have ever wanted is to have a family again. I have been trying so hard to give you one, and now you have your husband and your son. All you need is a cat.”

Gabe falls back in his chair. There are tears running down his scarred, severely handsome face. He laughs in spite of himself. “If my son doesn’t keep trying to fuck his stepfather, then yeah. All we need are some fucking cats and we’ll be a normal family.”

“Well, perhaps not _normal_ , but better than any of the three of you have without each other, which is none at all.”

“What about Jesse’s mother? Was she just some innocent pawn in all of this?”

Angela’s expression hardens. She takes a deep breath and straightens herself up. “Innocent? Hardly. Evelyn was…a disappointment.”

 

 


	75. L'Amour Bleu

BWR-002: Hey, where are you?

OCM-001: General Assembly still. China and Russia are holding up the vote, so I may be here a while.

BWR-002: Text me when you’re out.

OCM-001: Ok.

Gabe slides his phone back into his pocket and redirects the elevator to go down to his office, rather than up to Jack’s. His conversation with Angela has left him drained and shaken, and he won’t know exactly how to proceed next until he talks to his husband. Unfortunately, even in his current condition, there are public duties Jack still has to perform in person, since his absence would certainly raise questions. One of them is showing his face at the UN when they are voting on matters raised by Overwatch, as they are today.

As he enters the reception area outside his office, Gabe sees a pretty, dark-haired young woman seated on the couch, apparently waiting for someone. She hops up from her seat and salutes.

“Good morning, Commander. It’s good to see you again, sir.”

“Agent Oberkampf,” Gabe says, mystified. “It’s good to see you, too. What, uh—what can I do for you?”

“They told me to report to you here, sir,” she says, smiling nervously. “I hope that was right.”

“They?”

“The duty sergeant, sir. He stamped my orders and told me how to find your office. It’s…my first day…?”

She holds out a blue form for him to inspect. He takes it and scans it as he opens his office door.

“Come on in,” he says. “Have a seat. Let’s see. Agent Claudia Oberkampf…medical support staff…to report not later than…”

Sure enough, the line that reads “Transfer Approved By” has been signed: Acting Blackwatch Commander Jesse J. McCree. Gabe smiles. That little fuck went ahead with the transfer himself. Well, he had told him they’d take her, and Jesse had been acting as Blackwatch Commander at the time the order was signed, so he hasn’t technically exceeded his authority. Gabe has been planning on creating a medical team anyway, but it keeps getting shuffled to the back of his mind by more pressing matters. Maybe this is for the best. 

“Jesse didn’t tell me to expect you, or someone would’ve been here,” he says. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“Oh, no, not long,” she says cheerfully. “Like, two hours. It’s no big deal, sir.”

“Sorry about that. Welcome to Swiss HQ, Oberkampf.” He opens his desk drawer and places the form inside. “You’ve got your quarters and everything?”

“Yes, sir. They moved my stuff in last night. I’m on Residential J-3.”

“Good, good,” Gabe says. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair. He wasn’t prepared to take on a new arrival today, and he has absolutely no idea what to do with her now. “You, uh…want to go get a cup of coffee?”

“Sure, Commander,” she grins. “I could certainly use one. To be honest, I was really nervous about today and I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“Starting a new job is always nerve-wracking,” Gabe says, closing the office door behind them. “Don’t worry, though. We don’t bite.”

As they ride the elevator to the floor containing the dining facility, he takes out his phone and begins to type a message to Jesse.

BWR-002: Your new recruit arrived

He pauses and stares at the screen, suddenly overcome by the acute awareness that he is sending a message to his son. That Jesse is his son. He has a son. A human being linked to him by blood. A family.

A touch on his arm startles him. Claudia is looking up at him, with a concerned expression on her face.

“Um, Commander?”

“Hm? I’m sorry, what did you say?”

She points to the open elevator door. “I said we’re here. Are…are you ok, sir?”

“I’m fine. Just a little distracted. The mess is right through here.”

As they wait for their coffee at the dining facility’s espresso shop, he sends his message, reminding himself that Jesse is unaware of their relationship, and he needs to behave as normally as possible.

BWR-002: Your new recruit arrived. I see you went ahead and hired your pal, you sneaky fuck.

About a minute passes, then his phone chirps.

BWM-003: pretty sure i told ya she was comin on

BWM-003: maybe you just gettin senile

BWR-002: Nice try, pendejo. You didn’t even bother to let me know when to expect her. She waited by herself in the office for two hours.

BWM-003: aw shit sorry boss i meant to leave it in the calendar

BWM-003: would you tell her i said sorry bout that an sorry i ain’t there to show her around

BWR-002: I’m not your fucking secretary.

BWR-002: I’m telling her you’re an idiot and I’m giving her your job.

BWM-003: well easy come easy go i guess

BWR-002: What are you doing tonight?

BWM-003: goin to plant some daisies at Imagawa Castle

BWR-002: Good. Be careful.

BWM-003: boss if you keep tellin me to be careful ima start thinkin you like me

BWR-002: Just don’t make a mess I’m going to have to clean up.

Gabe puts his phone away and sits down at a table with his new medical officer. She has removed the lid from her cup and is blowing on the steaming-hot coffee inside. He watches this process absently as he takes a deep draught of his own coffee.

“Wow, doesn’t that burn your mouth?” she says, waving more steam away from her cup.

“Nah. My mouth’s too tough from years of cussing Jesse out.”

“Oh, speaking of which, is Agent McCree around? I kind of expected to see him.”

“Sorry, I didn’t explain. He’s on a recon job in Japan. Probably won’t be back for a month.”

“That’s too bad,” she says, trying not to look overly disappointed. “He’s really great.”

Gabe smiles. “I thought you two seemed to hit it off when we were in Paris. I’m glad you could join us. He needs someone to talk to besides me.”

“It’s not just the two of you is it? I don’t know anything about Blackwatch—I mean, obviously—but I thought you had more guys.”

“It’s…a highly selective branch of the organization,” Gabe says. “We have twenty dedicated support and soldier-level members, all hand-picked by me. But aside from that, it’s just myself, Jesse, and now you.”

“Wow, I’m—I’m honored, sir. Thank you for giving me a chance.”

“No problem,” he replies clumsily. “Jesse is the one you should thank. But I do think he made a good choice. Angela spoke highly of you, too.”

He sips his coffee to conceal his awkwardness. He is entirely out of his element making chit-chat with an attractive woman in her twenties, and he suddenly feels very old and out of touch.

Claudia comes to his rescue. “So, what exactly will I be doing around here? Aside from field support.”

“Ah, I’m glad you asked. Blackwatch is small right now, but it’s still essentially in its infancy. I’m building it into something larger and more substantial, but it’s going to be a long process. We brought you on as a combat medic, but ideally, the role I’d like you to fill will wind up being much more than that, if you’re up for it.”

“I’m up for anything, sir,” Claudia says eagerly. “Just point the way.”

“So, since we won’t be constantly in the field, that’ll give you a lot of down time. If it’s something that interests you, I’d like you to work with me to develop an actual medical support structure for Blackwatch. That’ll mean everything from designing a standard system of health maintenance and treatment for our agents to expanding the program and recruiting more medical staff. Does that sound like something you can handle?”

“Hell yes, are you kidding me?” Claudia says, almost bursting with excitement. “I mean—sorry, sir. I mean absolutely. I can handle it, sir.”

“Good. I like your attitude. I was worried all that might scare you off.”

“Not a chance. This is such a huge opportunity and I’m really excited to work with you guys. I won’t let you down, Commander.”

“Happy to have you on the team, Oberkampf. I’ll let Angela know you’re here and she’ll see that you get access to the medical administration system. I’m sure there are plenty of resources you can draw from there to help with planning. And you can always talk to me or Angela if you have any questions.”

“I’ve got one question now, if you don’t mind, sir.”

“Not at all.”

“Will I be acting as a primary care physician for the team? Or will you guys keep seeing your usual doctors?”

“Hm.” Gabe sits back and considers this for a moment. “Likely, that will eventually be the case for the agents and other team members. My own medical care is a little more…complicated.”

“Oh, I’ve treated augmented patients before. I hope it’s not—” She breaks off, flushing crimson. “I apologize, sir. That’s obviously none of my business and I shouldn’t have…god, I am so embarrassing sometimes.”

“It’s ok, Oberkampf,” Gabe laughs. “I’m not as scary as I look, I swear. I’m sure you can handle augmented patients just fine, but my specific enhancements aren’t exactly the same as the standard SEP soldiers. Angela is the only physician in the world who’s qualified to treat me.”

“Yes, sir. Of course,” Claudia says, fidgeting nervously with her coffee cup.

She is positively dying with curiosity now, but she doesn’t dare to press the topic with Commander Reyes. He is the most intimidating man she’s ever met in person and she is barely able to maintain eye contact with him, let alone inquire into his private medical matters. He has been nothing but polite and welcoming and even friendly, but she can’t shake the overwhelming feeling that she is a hapless lamb in the presence of a particularly vigilant and deadly lion.

She senses instinctively, however, that while he is certainly not a tame lion, he does not present any immediate danger to her. In fact, she is sure that she could trust the Commander with her life. He is a good man. Not a decent, inoffensive, law-abiding drone, as people usually mean when they say ‘good,’ but a man whose internal moral compass is set to true north. Who knows himself and whose sense of honor and justice are carved in stone, unshakeable by any outside influence. Commander Reyes is a man who is worthy of loyalty.

She is still mulling this over when she realizes they have arrived back at his office.

“I have some business to take care of, so I’ve got to go,” he says. “You can go ahead and take off for the day. I’m sure you still have a lot of unpacking to do.”

“I do, actually,” she laughs. “My place is a labyrinth of cardboard boxes right now. I’m excited to find out what the carpet looks like, though. I haven’t seen it yet.”

“I hope it lives up to your expectations,” Gabe grins. “And let me know if you need tomorrow, too. We usually give new agents a couple days to settle in before we really start cracking the whip, anyway.”

“Thank you, Commander. And thanks for the coffee.”

“My pleasure.”

He watches her depart briskly down the hall, then pulls out his phone again. No messages from Jack yet. He locks his office door behind him and heads up to the Strike-Commander’s quarters.

Jack arrives at his room several hours later. He finds Gabe on the private balcony, sitting in a deck chair and smoking. He rests his chin on top of Gabe’s head and hangs his arms down over his chest.

Gabe takes his hand and squeezes it. “Hey, baby. How’d it go?”

“Defeated,” Jack sighs. “China and Russia won’t budge. They say that non-humans can’t legally be entitled to human rights and that the changes their laws would require in order to support the resolution would be too drastic to justify.”

“Sorry, Jack. I know how important it is to you.”

“It’s important for the whole world. I wish people would just be honest and say they’re scared instead of dressing it up in legal language. It’s such a hindrance to any kind of progress.” He leans down and kisses Gabe’s forehead. “How was your day?”

“You remember Claudia Oberkampf? The medic who helped Angela save Gérard?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, she works for me now. Jesse hired her for Blackwatch while I was away. I guess we’ll be getting our medical team put together sooner than I thought.”

“That’s great. But what do you mean Jesse hired her? Did you give him that kind of authority?”

“Not in so many words, but I told him he was acting Blackwatch Commander while I was taking care of other things, so he technically had all the authority he needed. I’m glad he did, anyway. I would’ve put it off forever.”

“Well, good then.”

“There’s another thing we have to talk about,” Gabe says, looking up into his husband’s bright blue eyes. “Let’s go inside, ok?”

Gabe follows Jack inside and sits beside him on the couch. He rubs his hands together anxiously.

Jack smiles and lays a hand on his. “Hey. Talk to me.”

“I asked Angela about Jesse,” Gabe says. “Whether he’s augmented like us.”

“Oh? What did she say?”

“We were partially right. He is genetically enhanced, but not the way we were, with a series of injections. He was born that way. Bred to be superior to normal humans.”

Jack frowns. “How does she know about it? Was she responsible?”

“Yes. But there’s something else.”

“What is it?”

There’s no way to do this but to just dive in. Gabe takes a deep breath and steels himself for the plunge.

“Jack, Jesse is…Jesse is my son.”

 

 

Jesse pulls on a pair of rubber-soled black boots that fit snugly over the calves of his tight, dark-grey uniform trousers. He checks his gear one more time. Smoke grenades, stun grenades, boot knife, revolver, silencer, and six Daisies—covert surveillance devices to be planted around a location of interest, and which will hijack incoming and outgoing communication signals, allowing Blackwatch intel to listen in. He straps on his chest armor and slides his revolver into its holster. Last, he fastens on a short, black, aramid-mesh cloak designed to protect him from inclement weather, resist slashing attacks, and conceal anything reflective he might have about his person (namely, a bunch of grenades and a revolver).

The hotel staff have been warned not to disturb any of Mr. McCree’s expensive recording equipment, but he stows everything and locks it up anyway. Better safe than sorry. He leaves his computer open on the desk, set to its “watch” function, sticks a camera-bug to the wall, and exits through the sliding-glass door leading to his beachside deck.

The night is overcast and gusty, providing ideal cover for anyone who might wish to move about unheard and unseen. He pulls his black hat down low on his forehead and skirts the perimeter of the hotel grounds, deftly slipping past a security drone as it whirrs past on its pre-set course. About a hundred meters from the hotel, he pauses in the deep shadows beneath some trees and takes out his phone. He opens the transport beacon. The orange blip on the screen guides him another hundred meters or so to the parking lot behind a surf shop that is closed for the season.

He taps his phone screen and the air a few feet away warps and shimmers, as the camouflage on his stealth bike disengages. He straddles the seat and presses his thumb to a glowing, turquoise plate below the speedometer. The bike rises a few inches off the ground as the hover engine hums to life. He pushes his earpiece into his left ear, checks the coordinates again, then speeds silently off into the cool, windy night, bound for Imagawa Castle in Atami.

A half-mile from the castle walls, he pulls his bike off the road. He parks it in a narrow fernbrake between the trees and reengages the camouflage. His plan is to go on foot through the densely wooded valley surrounding the castle, his best bet for avoiding detection by Imagawa security. He kneels beside the bole of a fallen tree and opens the 3-D terrain map of the area, scanning it for the best route. Then he slides his phone back into his pocket and closes his eyes.

He breathes deeply, scenting the air about him and feeling its ebb and flow on his skin. He listens attentively to the night sounds of the forest, taking time to make himself accustomed to its natural cadence and rhythm, so that any discordant noise will alert him as quickly as possible to potential danger. Satisfied that he is familiar with his surroundings, he gets up and begins to pick his way swiftly and silently through the thick vegetation.

His path leads him directly to the high outwalls surrounding the castle, about thirty meters west of the main gate, which opens to the road. The trees have been cut back, leaving a flat, grassy space a little less than ten meters wide between the forest and wall, all along the castle perimeter. This must be where guards patrol. Jesse lies on his stomach in the dense, dark underbrush to watch and wait. After two tedious hours, he has ascertained that armed, two-man patrols pass regularly every fifteen minutes. There appear to be only two sets of guards on this rotation, as he has seen the same four men each time.

He waits for his opening, then slips in close to the wall and plants the first Daisy in a little clump of shrubs. He moves swiftly back into the cover of the forest and continues westward. He repeats this process till he has circled the castle wall in its entirety, planting the devices at six points along the way. Pleased with his night’s work, he makes his way back to his bike and rides back to Hanamura.

He parks the bike a couple hundred meters from the hotel, in the opposite direction this time, behind a municipal power substation. He stows it between some palm trees and the fence, then engages the camouflage and makes his way back to his hotel, staying off the road and using trees and buildings for cover. He steals back onto the hotel grounds, waits as the security drone passes, then gets quickly to his room’s deck. He stands against the wall between the mineral bath and the sliding glass door, waiting and listening for a few minutes before he slips inside.

He draws the heavy blackout curtains over the door and then tosses his hat on the bed. It had started to rain as he walked home, and he is cold, wet, hungry, and exhausted. He checks his computer for any sign of entry to his room in his absence. Finding everything to be alright, he peels himself out of his combat gear and dons the loose, comfortable yukata provided by the hotel.

He stows his equipment and weapons, then takes the room service menu and orders food and a bottle of whiskey. His phone chirps with a message from intel, letting him know that the Daisy-chain is active and Imagawa chatter is coming in loud and clear. He types a message to Commander Reyes relating the fact, then goes to have a shower while he waits for room service to arrive.

Unknown to Jesse, a moment or two after he draws the curtains over his door, a masked, hooded figure, clad all in black, drops silently to the ground from the balcony of the room above his. The shadowy form creeps onto Jesse’s deck and crouches with one side of its hooded head pressed against the glass. It listens to the indistinct sounds of his movement inside, then to his voice as he orders his meal. After the shower starts in the bathroom, the figure glides away as silently as it came, and vanishes into the blackness of the night.

 

 

At ten in the morning, a week into his stay in Hanamura, Jesse wakes up to a barrage of texts from Genji.

Genji: Jesse

Genji: Jesseeeeeee

Genji: omg wake up u r so lazy

Genji: I am coming there

Genji: I will throw u out of bed

Genji: Jessssssseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Genji: I have to find my shoes

Genji: then I am coming there

Genji: and we are getting lunch

Jesse has his toothbrush in his mouth and his phone in his hand, typing a response to Genji, when his room’s telephone rings. He sets his phone down and goes to answer it.

“Good morning, Mr. McCree,” the hostess says cheerfully. “There is a young man here who says he is your friend and wishes to be shown to your room. Shall I tell him to go away?”

“Naw, I been expectin’ him. Send him on over. Thanks, Noriko.”

Jesse hangs up and finishes brushing his teeth just in time to open the door for an enthusiastically knocking Genji.

“Jesse!” he says, bursting into the room. “Let us go out and enjoy this excellent weather!”

“Ok, Genj,” Jesse laughs. “But can’t I get dressed first?”

“It is past ten!” Genji says incredulously, noticing at last that Jesse is still in his yukata. “Why have you not dressed?”

“I was workin’ late last night and I just woke up a minute ago. I’ll be real quick, I promise.”

“Very well,” Genji chirps. “But you should cultivate better sleeping habits. It is unhealthy to stay awake all night and sleep all day.”

“I don’t reckon sleepin’ till ten counts as all day, Genj,” Jesse says. “But I guess I shouldn’t stay up all night, anyhow.”

He hangs his yukata over the closet door and begins to pull on his jeans.

“You are in excellent shape, Jesse,” Genji remarks, scrutinizing Jesse’s muscular physique as he dresses. “I thought Americans were rather fat.”

“Oh you did, did you?” Jesse laughs and pats his flat, hard abdomen. “Well, if you can find any fat on me, I’ll eat my hat. I just ain’t a little beanpole like you.”

“A bean pole?” Genji says. “What is that?”

“You know, them wooden rods they make bean plants grow on. It means a skinny little fella.”

“I am not a skinny little fella! I am in better shape than you!”

“Maybe you ain’t skinny, but you still little. I bet I could carry you around like a baby if I took a notion to.”

“I bet you could not. I would not let you.”

“Well, I could if you let me. I don’t know if I’d like to test my luck in a fight with you, though.”

“You would not like it,” Genji says. “I am a very skilled hand-to-hand fighter. I train every day. You should join me sometime.”

“Maybe I will. I’m a pretty fair street brawler, but I don’t know any proper fightin’ styles or nothin’.”

“A street brawler? Is that how you got those scars?” Genji indicates to the row of scars on Jesse’s torso.

“Somethin’ like that,” Jesse says, fastening the snaps on his shirt. “What you feel like doin’ today?”

“We should eat first,” Genji says. “Then we should go somewhere out of doors to enjoy the weather.”

“How ‘bout that little pier with the shops and things on it? We could get a bite and be outside at the same time.”

“That would be satisfactory. Oh! I have a better idea. You should bring your guitar and we can carry our food to the beach and you can play me some songs.”

“That sounds real nice. Like a little beach picnic. Alright, let’s do it.”

Genji picks up the book Jesse got from the bookstore his first morning in town. He eyes it dubiously as Jesse is collecting his guitar and hat.

“Jesse, did you purchase this book?”

“Huh? Oh, that,” he laughs. “I don’t read Japanese at all, to be honest. I just grabbed any old book so’s I wouldn’t seem rude for loiterin’ around in there without buyin’ nothin’. What is it?”

“It says it is a Japanese translation of a book called _L’amour Bleu: An Anthology of French Homoerotic Poetry_ ,” Genji says. He peels off the plain, blue dust jacket and holds the book up for Jesse to inspect. “See?”

The image on the hard cover inside is a detail from a renaissance-era painting, depicting two alabaster-skinned male youths clinging desirously to one another. Jesse’s face flushes pink and he pulls his hat down low over his eyes, which sends Genji into a fit of merry laughter.

“It is alright, Jesse! Do not be ashamed of what you like. I will not judge you!”

“I ain’t ashamed of it,” Jesse says, hastily folding the book back into its dust jacket. “I just—I didn’t know what it was.”

Genji stops, suddenly aware of his friend’s very real discomfort. “Oh, Jesse, I am sorry. I did not mean to laugh at your expense. You are…you are really homosexual?”

“Not exactly,” Jesse says. “It’s like…I like boys _and_ girls, you know?”

“You are bisexual?”

“I guess you could call it that. I never put a name to it, myself. Way I grew up, folks had too much to worry about, what with just tryina survive’, no one bothered much about how other folks liked to get off. I never got taught I was meant to pick one or the other.”

“You have been with both men and women, then?” Genji says, more impressed with his new friend than ever.

“Yep. I guess I like men more, but I ain’t too hung up on the mechanics, so long as everyone has a good time.”

“Wow. You are so interesting, Jesse.”

“Am I?” Jesse laughs. “Well, thanks, Genj.”

“Yes, you are,” Genji says earnestly. “I wish I were more like you, but my life is very boring.”

“I don’t know if livin’ in a huge castle by a beach in Japan is what I’d call boring.”

“But it is,” Genji insists. “My father is very strict and has many expectations regarding my future and Hanzo’s. We are not permitted to follow our own way as you have. I envy your freedom.”

“Truth be told, I kinda envy y’all, too,” Jesse says. “I never had a daddy to care one way or another what I was doin’ with myself.”

“What about your mother?”

“My ma passed when I was little. I been an orphan most of my life.”

“I am sorry for your loss, Jesse,” Genji says, dipping his head solemnly. “Our mother died, as well. But it happened when I was an infant, and I do not remember her. It must be far more painful for you, since you knew your mother.”

“I don’t know if it’s more painful for me. I think maybe it just hurts in different ways.”

“Perhaps you are correct.” Genji chews his lip thoughtfully for a moment. “But we should go. We have become gloomy and the sunshine and sea air will cheer us.”

Jesse and his friend stroll at a leisurely pace to the aforementioned pier, which features a popular eating establishment called Happy Dog. Their specialty is “authentic” American cuisine, the most celebrated offering being (of course) foot-long Coney-Island hot dogs, smothered in chili, onions, and mustard. The boys order two of these, along with the obligatory chocolate malts.

Realizing that they have not brought a beach blanket, and not wishing to consume an unreasonable quantity of sand with their food, they content themselves to take their meal at one of the diner’s outdoor tables. The chili dogs are served to them with huge piles of greasy, golden french fries in red plastic baskets lined with red and white checkered paper, strongly reminiscent of classic, greasy-spoon Americana.

Jesse takes a bite of his and makes a face. He chews and swallows it warily, then takes another. Then he gives up and sets the thing down with a disgusted grimace.

“What is the matter, Jesse?” Genji asks, with his mouth full. “Do you not like it?”

“Well Genj, I musta ate about ten million chili dogs in my life and I’m pretty sure this here’s an impostor. It _looks_ like a chili dog, but if it comes from that particular family, I can’t taste any resemblance.”

“I think it is very good,” Genji says, through another hearty bite. “Perhaps it is the type of meat you do not like.”

“What about it?”

Genji points to the sign, which is printed in Japanese, and reads it aloud in English for Jesse’s benefit. “Happy Dog chili dogs and burgers are made with the finest quality vegetarian meat-substitutes.”

“That a fact,” Jesse says, eyeing his meatless entrée as if it has offered him a personal insult. “I better eat it since I ordered it, but maybe they shouldn’t be so liberal with words like ‘authentic’ if they gonna pull a stunt like that.”

Genji laughs at his reluctant expression as he gives his food another try. Jesse finds that once he has trained his mind not to expect a chili dog, the thing is actually rather enjoyable. His fries and malt are both excellent, too, and so he proclaims lunch to be a success. As they eat, however, threatening clouds begins to roll in from the sea. By the time they are finished, they find themselves caught in a sudden shower of cold spring rain.

Genji manifests great disappointment at the spoiling of their stroll on the beach, but Jesse consoles him by offering to play him as many songs as he wants, so long as they can do it indoors where his guitar won’t get wet. On their way through town, the drizzle becomes a downpour, and they arrive back at the Shimada family home soaked and bedraggled, but in good spirits. The two boys have become fast friends in the short time Jesse has been visiting, and they are unable to be melancholy for long in each other’s presence.

A servant is building a fire in the massive fireplace that sits at the center of the main hall between Hanzo and Jesse’s rooms. They leave their shoes and Jesse’s hat by the fireplace to dry and go to Genji’s bedroom. Genji hands Jesse a towel, then taps his finger thoughtfully on his bottom lip.

“We must dry your clothing, but you will certainly not fit into any of mine. Ah, I know!” He goes to a closet and returns with an indigo-blue yukata and black sash. “You can wear this. It will fit you more snugly than it fits me, but it will be alright for sitting by the fire.”

Jesse goes into the bathroom to change and towel-dry his hair. When he emerges, another servant takes his wet clothes from his hands with a bow, and trots rapidly away. He finds Genji lounging on a cushion before the cheerfully blazing fire in the main hall.

“Good! It is a bit short, but it fits well enough,” Genji says. “Would you care for a drink before you play?”

“Sure,” Jesse says, smiling at his friend’s earnest desire to hear him play the guitar. “Thanks, Genj.”

“Beer?”

“Perfect.”

Genji vanishes into his bedroom and returns with an armful of tall, gold cans labeled “Yebisu.”

“Oh, it’s cold,” Jesse says, as he takes one of the cans. “Where’d you have these?”

“I have a miniature refrigerator in my room. The servants keep it stocked with beverages for me.”

“Y’all got a whole grip of servants—this is real good beer, by the way—one of ‘em was waitin’ for me to change and run off with my clothes. I hope that means they’re goin’ to get dried somewhere and not threw out.”

“They will be dried,” Genji laughs. “You need not worry. Do you really think we have a great number of servants? It does not seem so many to me, but I am used to it.”

“I reckon it’s probably the same as what they have in other castles. I wouldn’t know. I never been anywhere that even had one.”

Jesse sits cross-legged on a cushion and begins to tune his guitar and noodle through a couple of chord progressions to warm himself up. “What kinda song you in the mood for?”

“Oh, anything,” Genji says eagerly. “You choose.”

“Alright, then. How’s about somethin’ classic to kick things off.” He takes another gulp of his beer and sets it down, wiping his hands on his knees. “My voice might be a little rough, so bear with me.”

Genji listens raptly, laughing with delight at Jesse’s exaggerated cowboy twang as he performs a very passable version of the Waylon Jennings standard, “Mamas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow up to be Cowboys.” Thus encouraged, he plays Merle Haggard’s “Mama Tried,” to his enthusiastic audience of one.

“Jesse, you are very good!” Genji exclaims, clapping his hands. “Come, you must play another!”

“Ok, ok,” Jesse laughs, cracking his knuckles and stretching his arms. “I think I got one more in me. How ‘bout a nice soft one to wind things down.”

He finishes his can of beer and begins his next song, the Rolling Stones ballad (and Jesse’s personal favorite) “Wild Horses.” He is halfway through the first chorus, when a movement catches his attention from the corner of his eye. He glances in that direction and sees Hanzo standing in the hallway that leads to his room, looking at him. Jesse stops playing abruptly and Genji turns to look for the reason.

“Brother,” he calls out. “Jesse is an excellent musician. Come and listen!”

The black-haired boy hesitates for a moment, then steps slowly into the room. His face betrays nothing that Jesse can decipher, unless it is mild distaste for being disturbed by his younger brother’s cowboy friend and his guitar.

“Howdy, Hanzo,” Jesse says, sounding as nonchalant as he can with his heart in his throat. “I didn’t mean to bother you with my caterwauling. I’ll give it a rest.”

The black eyes look directly into Jesse’s for a long moment, then flicker to Genji, then back to Jesse.

“Nonsense, Mr. McCree,” Hanzo says slowly. “You play…very well. I apologize for my interruption. Please continue.”

He seats himself on a cushion near Genji and folds his graceful hands in his lap, gazing fixedly at the floor. Jesse watches him in utter bewilderment, then he turns and looks questioningly at Genji.

“Yes, Jesse,” Genji says, nodding his encouragement as he opens a third can of beer. “Please go on.”

Jesse swallows hard and clears his throat, which has suddenly become dry and constricted. He takes a few deep breaths, reminding himself that the black-eyed angel sitting across from him is no different from regular mortals, and then begins his song again. Despite feeling as though his fingers have gone numb, he manages to play the chords with his usual carefree facility, and even keep his voice from trembling.

Try as he might, however, he finds he cannot keep his eyes off the beautiful young archer and the long, silky braid of black hair hanging over his shoulder. This proves to be to his advantage, however. As he works doggedly through the second verse, he observes a very slight, but unmistakable smile playing at the corners of that perfect mouth. Hanzo is actually enjoying the music. A warm, tingling sensation starts in Jesse’s gut and spreads through his body, making him feel light and giddy all over.

He plays the remainder of the song in a near-euphoric state, studying that exquisite face for any ever-so-miniscule response. When Hanzo’s long, sooty eyelashes lower and his eyes close, Jesse thinks he could die happy at this very moment with no regrets. He concludes his song with a lingering, longing note that he draws out to its peak and then allows to fade softly away into silence, as he waits breathlessly for Hanzo’s reaction. Genji breaks into a raucous cheer, jerking Jesse out of his trance.

He looks over at his friend and smiles appreciatively. “Thanks, Genj. You’re gonna spoil me with all that, though. I ain’t that good.”

“You are very skilled, Mr. McCree,” Hanzo says, rising from his cushion. “Thank you for playing.”

He bows and glides swiftly from the room, before Jesse can even think to formulate a reply. He sits blinking at the vacant hallway down which the archer has passed, feeling stung and rejected, though he isn’t sure why. He doesn’t know what kind of response he expected, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“What’s with your brother?” he asks irritably. “He always like this, or am I just lucky?”

“He is usually more unfriendly,” Genji laughs. “This is the most politely he has ever behaved toward one of my guests.”

“I’d hate to see him in a bad mood, then,” Jesse says, packing his guitar in its case and locking the fasteners. “You want to go get a real drink after my gear's dry? I could use some good old fashioned whiskey.”

 


	76. Fathers

“So…that makes me his…”

“Stepdad?” Gabe offers, with a visible wince.

“Ha. Yeah. So, maybe we agree not to use that word ever again.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Christ.”

“I mean…it’s not as bad as it sounds.”

“Nothing could be as bad as that sounds, Gabe. ‘Hi, I’m Jack. I made out with my stepson, but I can explain.’ It makes me sound like a pedophile.”

“Jesse isn’t a child, Jack. You were both consenting adults.”

“He’s _your_ child. How are you not more upset about this?”

“I don’t think it’s the same from my perspective. Neither of you knew.” Gabe shrugs. “And I’m just not that surprised that my son and I might be attracted to the same man, you know? I guess it’s true that the apple doesn’t—”

“If you finish that sentence, I will actually have you thrown in the lockup. I am not even a little bit kidding.”

“Sorry, baby,” Gabe grins. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“You’re actually enjoying this!” Jack exclaims. “Gabriel Reyes what has gotten into you?”

“Look, Jack, it’s not very often I get to have the upper hand in our relationship. But this is like, an instant get out of jail free card for—”

Gabe’s sentence is cut short by the precipitous collision of a throw-pillow with his face.

“Ow! Come on, baby!” he laughs, arresting the pillow’s trajectory as Jack attempts another whack. “You don’t have to get violent. I forgive you for making out with your—ow!—stepson!”

Jack lets go of the pillow and leaps on Gabe, throwing him off-balance and sending both of them tumbling to the floor. There is a brief scuffle, and Jack winds up on his back with his arms pinned above his head.

“Let me go!” Jack demands.

“Nope, not till you learn to use your words instead of your couch pillows.”

“But I’m not done beating you!” he pouts, kicking and squirming ineffectually beneath the weight of Gabe’s heavy, solid body.

“Oh yeah? I’ll just have to keep you like this, then. Or tie you up.”

Jack grins. “Maybe you should.”

“Maybe I will, later. We really need to talk about this, baby.”

“Ok. Let me up. I promise I’ll be good.”

Gabe gets up and pulls Jack to his feet, wrapping his arms around him and burying his face in his blonde hair.

Jack leans into his embrace and sighs. “How do you feel? Are you ok?”

“I don’t know,” Gabe says. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.”

He falls onto the sofa and lies gazing at the ceiling. Jack sits beside him and strokes his hair.

“Are you going to tell him?”

“I mean, I have to, right? He has as much right to know it as I do. It’s fucking terrifying, though. How do you tell a kid something like that? What if…what if he hates me for it?”

“For being his father?”

“Yeah, and for not being there. For letting him be alone and scared for all those years and have nothing and no one to take care of him.”

“How can any of that be your fault? You didn’t know.”

“Will he believe that? Will he understand it?”

“He’ll understand. He might be confused at first and he’ll probably be angry, but it won’t be at you.”

“I don’t know about that. When I was a kid, I was angry at my father for plenty of shit he couldn’t have been remotely responsible for. I still am.”

“You just said Jesse isn’t a child, Gabe. You’re right. He isn’t. Just talk to him. Tell him the truth.”

“That’s another thing. How much of the truth?”

Jack hesitates. “I was going to say all of it, but I have a feeling that with Angela involved, it isn’t that simple.”

“It isn’t. Jesse’s mother was…not who he thinks she was.”

“Jesus. How did I know,” Jack says, rubbing his forehead. “Who was she really?”

“She was Angela’s daughter.”

Jack blinks. “What? Angela’s—are you fucking kidding me?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“How the fuck—Gabe, this is hands-down the most insane thing I have ever heard. And I’m a genetically enhanced super-soldier who fought robot armies that were trying to destroy the world. Angela had a daughter?”

“Yeah. She didn’t get pregnant and give birth like a person, of course. She fertilized the embryos in her lab and used a surrogate. Apparently, it was her first and only attempt to fully engineer a human, and it wasn’t a success.”

“How so?”

“She says her technology wasn’t where it is now, and she failed to prevent the expression of a lethal gene. A neurological disorder that presents at puberty and is usually fatal by middle age.”

“Wouldn’t that put Jesse at risk for it?”

“I guess not. She says her method has improved drastically since then, so there was no danger of him having it. Plus, the trait is recessive, so with my dominant allele, it would have been suppressed anyway.”

“So…then what?”

“So, from what she says, the girl was extremely intelligent and physically superior to average humans, but her personality was erratic and temperamental, and the two of them didn’t get along. It’s Angela telling it, so I don’t know how much of it was just normal human behavior that she disapproved of, and how much was the girl being actually unstable. 

When she hit puberty, her neurological disorder started to become a problem and her personality got even more unpredictable. Angela says she developed a bizarre fixation on religion and became a Baptist at seventeen. Then I guess she went off to college and when she came back to the States, they got on better terms. When Angela told her about her idea to make a child from one of her HEAs, she volunteered to be the mother.”

“She just…volunteered? To bear the child of a man she’d never met?”

“Angela wasn’t too clear on the details, but she made it sound like it was a kind of conciliatory gesture.”

“Jesus. That’s so far beyond fucked up. I can’t even begin to imagine what their relationship was like.”

“I don’t want to,” Gabe says, with a shudder. “Angela says she went pretty nuts after the baby was born. Started to be deceptive and secretive, and her fixation on her faith got obsessive. She accused Angela of playing God and told her she would be punished for her interference with his divine order or something along those lines.

Then, while Angela was away with your unit during one of the bigger Omnic attacks, the girl took the baby and vanished. Angela says she did everything she could to have her found, but all the CIA’s resources were dedicated to the Omnic threat, and so it was years before she found a trace of her. She’d been living in a trailer park in New Mexico under the name Evelyn McCree. But by that time, she was dead and the child had disappeared.”

“How did she die?”

“Angela had been keeping the neurological disorder under control, but she couldn’t treat her if she couldn’t find her, so eventually it killed her.”

“Fuck,” Jack breathes. “Fuck, poor Jesse.”

“Yeah. It took her four more years to locate him. Then she sent me to ‘retrieve him,’ as she put it.”

“But…the Deadlock job, that was your thing. Blackwatch brought that case to us.”

“Do you recall a conversation we had in a staff meeting about criminal organizations threatening populations that were already distressed by the effects of the Crisis, and how we had to take care of it, since the local police forces were decimated and nearly nonfunctional?”

“Of course.”

“Well, Angela is the one who brought that idea to our attention. If you remember, she specifically used the Deadlock gang in New Mexico and their recent attack on a hypertrain that was carrying medical supplies as an example.”

“I do remember that. Fuck. That’s—Gabe, Angela using Overwatch resources to intervene in a personal matter like that…it’s completely unethical. Not to mention wildly illegal.”

“What do you propose we do about it now, after the fact, though? The Deadlocks were a serious, violent threat to society who were engaged in arms trafficking that crossed international borders. It was all completely within our purview. And we couldn’t make a case against her just for bringing it up in a meeting. I was the one who pursued it. And it was my son we brought back. If anything, it’ll look pretty strongly from the outside that it was me using Overwatch for a personal matter.”

“How did she know you wouldn’t just kill him with the rest of them?”

“I asked her that same question. She did that little condescending smile she does and said, ‘Gabriel, if I thought you were capable of killing a child, I would not have given you one in the first place.’ She fucking kills me with that shit. You know, where she sidesteps the point and gives an answer that doesn’t tell you anything, but it’s not technically wrong and it’s impossible to argue with?”

“Yeah. She does that.” Jack sighs. “So, what do we do now?”

“Fuck if I know,” Gabe says, throwing his arms out in a defeated gesture. “I think we have to let the kid believe his mom was who he thought she was, though. There’s no sense in destroying his memory of her with all this twisted shit.”

“How do we do that and also let him know you’re his father?”

“I could say I met her when I was on a mission or something.”

Jack raises an eyebrow. “Gabe, you’re the gayest man on the planet. He won’t believe that for a second. And even if he did, it’d be pretty monstrous to let him think you knew his deceased mother.”

“I’m not the gayest man on the planet! I’ve been with women.”

“Yeah, but you hated it.”

“That’s true. And I had to be wasted to do it.”

“Maybe you tell him his mother volunteered to be a surrogate for the HEA program, but then Angela lost track of her in the chaos from the Crisis. That’s all true, it’s just not the whole story.”

“Maybe,” Gabe says doubtfully. “But I don’t want to have a wall of lies between me and my only living relative. What if…what if I just told him the whole truth and let him decide how he feels about it?”

“Then I’d say you’re doing the right thing by your son,” Jack says, taking Gabe’s hand and kissing it.

“Thank you, baby,” Gabe smiles. “I knew you’d set me straight about this.”

“You’ve got some time to think about how to bring it up with him, at least. Angela was right waiting till he was away to tell you.”

“She should have told me before she took my DNA and created a human being,” Gabe says bitterly. “But she certainly does know how to choose her moments for dropping these little bombs.”

They sit in silence for a moment, and then Jack laughs. “Holy shit, Gabe, you’re a dad! You always wanted to have a family.”

“But I wanted it to be something we did together,” Gabe says, shaking his head ruefully. “I know we talked about how it just wasn’t possible for us, but I was always hanging on to hope that one day things would be different and we’d be able to. I’m sorry it happened this way.”

“Don’t be. I’m sorry our lives have been the way they have. You deserve so much happiness, Gabe. You deserve so much better than—” Jack’s voice chokes and he turns away.

Gabe sits up and throws his arms around his husband, kissing away the tears that have started down his face.

“Don’t ever say that, Jack,” he says, looking into those brilliant, sapphire-blue eyes. “Don’t you ever say I deserved better. You are all I need. You’re everything to me. Everything.”

Jack climbs over Gabe and lies down with his head on his chest. Gabe strokes his hair and thinks about nothing in particular, simply savoring the rare, quiet moment with the man he loves.

“Jack?”

“Hm?”

“Do you remember that Pride festival you made me go to when we were living in Virginia?”

“I do.”

“And you remember how you got us matching Pride t-shirts and insisted that we wear them, so I wore mine and then when we got there, you took off your jacket and your shirt said ‘Supportive’?”

Jack laughs. “Yeah, I did do that, didn’t I. What about it?”

“I love you.”

 

 

After consuming an amount of whiskey that would reasonably constitute a suicide attempt for another man, Jesse is properly tanked. He hasn’t been drunk like this in years, and he’s beginning to remember why. Things are confusing enough when you’re not trying to understand how the street got itself turned so sideways while you were in the bar. He stumbles into Genji, who laughs drunkenly and throws an arm around him.

“Jesse,” he slurs, “you must come to my—house and play me more cowboy songs.”

“I dunno, Genj,” Jesse replies, attempting to center his friend’s face in his whirling vision. “I couldn’t play to save my soul right now. I think I best get to bed.”

“But Jesse, your guitar is there!” Genji protests, with the circular reasoning of an intoxicated man.

“No more for you tonight,” Jesse laughs. “You’re drunk as a skunk, too. You get on home ‘fore I puke on you or somethin’.”

With a bit more cajoling and a promise that he’ll be there tomorrow, Jesse convinces his friend to let him go home for the night. He turns Genji over to the care of his attentive bodyguards and ambles off in the direction of his hotel. At least, he thinks it’s this way. He walks an unsteady block or so, then stops, leaning on a mailbox for support and scanning the area. He’s pretty sure the buildings weren’t quite so wavy before. He can’t read any of the signs, either, so there’s no help there.

After a moment’s consideration, he decides his hotel was definitely further left-wise. He turns left down a narrow street, and as he approaches the corner, he finds that he was correct. Across the next intersection, he can see the big, brightly-lit sign for the Tonbokiri Resort. He is about to step out into the crosswalk, when he hears the scrape of footsteps behind him. His heart pounds with a sudden rush of adrenaline as his instincts scream danger. He whips around just in time to be thrown to the ground by a heavy blow to the side of his head.

He rolls onto his back and blinks dazedly up at the group of men who have surrounded him. He thinks for a split second that they are Genji’s bodyguards, but he doesn’t recognize any of their faces, so that can’t be the case. They are all Japanese men with close-cropped hair, wearing dark clothing. They’re quite a bit older than Genji’s bodyguards, too.

“Howdy fellas. What can I—ah! Fuck!” He gives a hoarse cry of pain and curls up as one of the men kicks him savagely in the ribs.

“Shut your mouth,” the man snarls. “Get up.”

Jesse assesses the situation as he struggles up to his knees. There are six of them, likely armed, and probably trained fighters. He’s taken on this many men before, but not while he’s almost too drunk to stand.

“Alright, alright,” he pants, clutching his side. “You ain’t gotta get ornery.”

Two of them step forward and drag him roughly to his feet.

“You will come with us,” the one who kicked him says. “Our master wishes to have a word with you.”

“Your master ever hear of a telephone?” Jesse smirks.

The man strikes him hard in the face with the back of his hand. Jesse staggers backward, using the momentum of his fall to pull the two men who are holding his arms down with him. He twists out of their grasp like a snake and leaps to his feet as the others shout and rush forward to grapple him. He grabs hold of one and tosses him aside, but another catches him in a headlock from behind. A swift kick to the back of his knee drops him and he feels something cold and sharp pressed against his neck.

His head spins and his stomach turns with the effects of the alcohol and the pain from the blows. He’s going to vomit. The men are holding him fast, and there’s nothing to be done about it. The man who has the knife on him jumps back to avoid it, as Jesse doubles over and retches onto the concrete in front of him. At this moment, a masked, black-clad figure drops silently down from somewhere above and lands behind the the group of attackers.

Before Jesse’s drunken mind can parse what is happening, the figure has disarmed the man with the knife and dispatched him with a skillful blow to the throat. Jesse wobbles and sits down hard on the street. He watches in awe as his mysterious savior effortlessly deals with the other men the same way. Taken at unawares and deciding that they are outmatched, they scatter and escape into the night.

The masked figure pursues their leader a short distance, as if to make certain they are really retreating, then returns to Jesse. He holds out his hand. Jesse stares up at him, blinking and bewildered. The man withdraws his hand and Jesse hears a sound like a frustrated sigh, muffled by the black mask that covers his face up to the eyes.

“Have you been inured?” the man says slowly, in a heavy Japanese accent. “Are you able to walk?”

Jesse’s brain sluggishly works through the situation. He squints up into the keen, black eyes. “Hanzo?”

The man steps back and throws off the hood, revealing a long, glossy braid of black hair. He removes the mask, and the exquisitely beautiful face of the young archer looks serenely down at Jesse.

“How—what—what in sam-hell’s goin’ on?” Jesse demands, struggling to his feet. “What you doin’ dressed up like a ninja?”

“Perhaps ‘thank you’ would be a more appropriate sentiment,” Hanzo says coolly.

“Thank you,” Jesse says. “But you ain’t answered my question. Why you out here in the middle of the night dressed up in a costume and savin’ folks from muggers.”

A slight smile flickers over the young man’s lips. “This is not a costume, Mr. McCree.”

“Sure looks like it,” Jesse grins. Then he clutches his stomach and staggers again.

Hanzo darts forward and catches him, just preventing him from falling into the puddle of his own vomit. He pulls Jesse’s arm over his shoulder to support his weight and begins to walk him slowly toward the hotel. Jesse’s head reels and he limps on his injured leg. Each step sends stabs of pain through his battered ribcage.

“Who was all them fellas,” he puffs. “They friends of yours?”

“Those men were enforcers from the Imagawa Clan. It appears you have done something to attract their notice.”

“I ain’t done nothin,” Jesse says vehemently. The effects of the whiskey have begun to return as the adrenaline wears off, and he feels drunker than before. “Y’all’s crazy people here. Fightin’ in the streets like it’s a movie and shit.”

“You are drunk, Mr. McCree,” Hanzo replies patiently, helping Jesse across the street.

“You’re drunk,” Jesse grumbles. “I ain’t the one playin’ Batman, Han- _zo_. Hey, Hanzo. Are you a ninja for real, though?”

“I do not know what you mean by ‘ninja’. I am trained in many forms of combat and weapons.”

“You sure sent them Ima—Imagawas off with a flea in they ear, though. Hoo-wee.”

By this time they are entering the lobby of Jesse’s hotel. Jesse opens his mouth to make some drunken explanation to the startled hostess, but Hanzo speaks some rapid words to her in Japanese, at which she bows low and returns to her work.

“Where we goin? My room?” Jesse mumbles. “Good, cause I gotta piss somethin’ fierce. How d’you know where my room is anyhow?”

“The hostess told me.”

They stop before Jesse’s door and Hanzo looks up at him expectantly. Jesse blinks stupidly down at him, then realizes Hanzo is waiting for him to produce his key card. He fumbles with his wallet and drops the card on floor, so Hanzo picks it up and slides it in the lock, then helps him into his room. He walks Jesse laboriously to the restroom, then back to his bed, where he lowers him carefully into a sitting position on the corner.

“It is no longer safe for you to remain here,” he says, glancing about the room. “We must pack your belongings and move you to the castle. You should inform your superiors of your change in location immediately.”

“My superiors?” Jesse says. “You mean at the record label?”

“Mr. McCree, do not treat me as if I am a fool. If I believed you to be a recording artist, I would not be here offering my assistance.”

“Offerin’ your…assistance,” Jesse repeats, as if he is attempting to work out what it means.

“My family’s assistance. I act under my father’s authority.”

“I see. How long y’all been onto me?”

“I suspected you the moment we met. But it was only yesterday that our security men were able to breach your cover.”

“Well, shit,” Jesse says, pushing the brim of his hat back. “I figured it wouldn’t take too long, but six days is pretty quick. Y’all must have some good intel folks over there.”

“Indeed.”

“Genji know, too?”

“My brother is unaware of your true identity. My father did not feel he would be able to be judicious with the information.”

“Fuck me, I think I got a couple ribs busted,” Jesse says, grimacing with the pain shooting through his side. “Gettin’ kinda hard to breathe, y’know?”

“Our physician will see to your injuries.” Hanzo comes to the side of the bed and helps Jesse lie down. “If you will permit me, I will gather your things. You are not in any condition to do so.”

Jesse nods weakly, then lies with his head propped up on a pillow, watching the strange, black-haired boy move gracefully about the room, collecting his clothing and things and stowing them in his trunk and suitcase. He wonders what it would be like to have that stern, beautiful boy with him all the time, taking care of him and fussing over him, and even scolding him. He thinks that must be what heaven is like.

Hanzo closes the lid on the trunk and hoists the suitcase up on top of it, then goes around once more, making a final check. Apparently satisfied that he has got everything, he returns to Jesse.

“Attendants will be here shortly to carry your luggage and escort us to the castle. How is your pain? Has it become any worse?”

The words of concern, spoken by that soft, sonorous voice, pierce Jesse’s heart like an arrow.

“Naw, I’ll be ok,” he says, smiling in spite of his very substantial pain. “Thanks for savin’ my ass in the alley there.”

“No thanks are required,” Hanzo replies, turning away to look at his phone. “I was simply doing my duty.”

Jesse gazes at him, admiring the rich, supple sheen of his hair, the elegant curve of his shoulder, and the graceful lines of his back. He’s so close, Jesse could almost reach out and touch him, but he doesn’t dare try.

“Why are you staring at me?” Hanzo asks, without turning around.

“Hm? Was I starin’? I didn’t mean to, it’s just my mind was wanderin’. I apologize.”

“Your mind must wander frequently,” Hanzo replies, casting an eye over his shoulder. “You need not apologize. I am not offended.”

“You ain’t…you ain’t offended?”

Hanzo turns to face him. “I does not offend me that you find me pleasing to look at, Mr. McCree.”

“Oh,” Jesse says, dumbstruck by the bluntness of the statement. He feels his face flushing with heat under the archer’s steady gaze. “I…I don’t—”

Before he can finish his thought, there is a brisk knock at his door. Hanzo opens it to admit four burly attendants, who take Jesse’s gear and carry him with surprising gentleness to a pair of large, black vehicles that are waiting outside. They resemble Land Cruisers, but are in fact, heavily armored transports used by the members of the Shimada family. Hanzo rides in the first vehicle and Jesse is loaded into the second, so he uses the time to send a message to the Commander.

BWM-003: hey boss looks like i won’t be needin the hotel anymore

BWM-003: ima move to shimada castle if thats ok

BWM-003: i hope it is cause i don’t think i got much choice

BWR-002: What happened? Are you alright?

BWM-003: i got jumped by some Imagawa thugs comin home

BWM-003: Hanzo sent em off to think about what they done an they movin me to the castle now

BWR-002: So, they finally breached your cover. Took them long enough.

BWM-003: yeah i guess i owe you that drink

BWM-003: i figured it would hold up a while longer

BWR-002: Why was Hanzo involved? Were you with him?

BWM-003: nah he was followin me i guess

BWM-003: he come outa nowheres dressed up like a ninja and kicked their asses

BWM-003: then they run off an he had his folks come get me an my stuff

BWR-002: I wonder why Sojiro had his son following you and not his security people.

BWM-003: i dunno i could ask him

BWR-002: Don’t ask unless they bring it up.

BWR-002: This is exactly what we hoped for, so don’t fuck up. Just watch your mouth, treat Sojiro with respect, and only tell him what he needs to know for now.

BWM-003: ok boss

BWM-003: they probably gonna want to deal with you directly though

BWR-002: Likely. I’ll be ready to fly out at a moment’s notice, depending on how it goes.

BWM-003: gotcha

BWR-002: Good work, mijo. Stay in touch.

BWM-003: thanks jefe i will

 

Gabe slides his phone back into his pocket and returns his attention to the meeting. Gérard is addressing the high-level staff regarding reopening the Paris bureau at a new location. Amélie’s return to the Opéra National will signal his presence in Paris to any interested party, so security will have to be a primary concern, and Gérard is detailing their plans to accomplish this.

“I don’t like this, Gérard,” Captain Amari says, shaking her head. “I know your wife wants very much to return to her career, but the Talon agent who attacked you infiltrated the ballet. Wouldn’t that be needlessly exposing her to a great deal of danger?”

“I thank you for your concern, Ana,” Gérard says, with a courteous bow. “But since the incident with Monsieur Doisneau, we have thoroughly vetted every employee of the Opéra, and we will continue to do so for any new employee they acquire.”

“It’s also unlikely that they’ll try the same strategy again,” Jack says. “Whatever they are, they’re not stupid.”

“Gabriel,” Ana says, turning to Gabe. “You have been involved when Talon has attacked twice. What do you think?”

“I think their assault on the Paris bureau was meant to instill fear in the public,” Gabe says. “By reestablishing a strong presence in Paris, we’ll be signaling to the civilian population that they don’t have to be afraid of this terrorist group. We’ll also be showing Talon that we’re not going to be bullied into retreating.” He smiles. “And don’t worry about Mel. We’ll keep her safe.”

“I know, Gabriel, but she is so young and darling, I cannot help but worry.” She sighs. “And I know you will take care of her, Gérard. It may be selfish of me, but I do hate to see her go. She has become very dear to Fareeha and myself since you have been with us.”

“Ah, I know it,” Gérard says. “She will miss both of you terribly. She talks of nothing but Mademoiselle Fareeha’s beauty and Madame Ana’s wisdom.”

“She has been an excellent feminine influence for Fareeha,” Ana says. “I think that girl would have been born a boy, if she had her way. Amélie has been teaching her to conduct herself in a more ladylike fashion.”

“I hear you’ve been giving Mel a little combat training, though,” Jack grins.

Ana smiles mischievously. “A young woman should be able to defend herself. There is nothing unladylike about that.”

“I pity the man who tries anything on Mel,” Gabe says. “She’s a crack shot with a sniper rifle.”

Jack raises his eyebrows. “A sniper rifle, huh?”

“What can I say?” Ana laughs. “She has a natural aptitude for it. A ballerina is a trained athlete, you know. Gérard, we will be sorry to see you go, but we will come to visit. Perhaps Amélie can interest Fareeha in the ballet.”

“Any time you wish to come, we will be delighted to have you,” Gérard says warmly. “But let us return to the issue at hand. There are just a few more things we must discuss before we close this matter.”

As the meeting adjourns, Gabe asks Gérard to walk with him, and the two head up to the top-floor smoking patio.

“I’m sorry I’ve been less involved than I’d like to be lately,” Gabe says, leaning forward to allow Gérard to light his cigarette. “You know how things get sometimes.”

“I understand perfectly, Commander,” Gérard replies, lighting his own cigarette, which he has drawn from a sleek, stylish gold case. “You have many demands on your attention. My team and I are able to handle the investigation.”

“How is that going? Anything new?”

“Not very much. If there were anything substantial, I would have reported it to you immediately. We suspect that Ikunku International Security, the PMC that took the contract to attack us, is owned by a cybernetics company operating out of Nigeria, but we have not been able to prove any concrete link.”

“Cybernetics?”

“Indeed. But what interest they would have in attacking Overwatch is unclear. It is more likely that they are only a parent company and have little to do with the PMC’s activities.”

“Well, stay on it. I’ll try to get around more often, now I’m back to almost full time. But I’ve got this Yakuza thing on my plate now, too, so I might be in Japan for a couple of weeks.”

“Ah, yes. How is Agent McCree faring on his first solo mission?”

“He seems to be doing pretty well,” Gabe says, with a chuckle. “Better than I expected, honestly. He’s a capable agent, but he’s young and inexperienced.”

“He will gain experience as he grows older,” Gérard says. “That is the way, no?”

“It certainly is. You and Mel should have dinner with Jack and I before I fly out. We’re going to miss having you two around.”

“We will miss you and Commander Morrison, as well. But Amélie is not very happy here. She is homesick and longs for her beloved Paris. And the ballet, of course, which is her first love.”

“After you, you mean,” Gabe grins.

“I do not know if you are correct,” Gérard laughs. “She was a dancer long before she met me. But I am content to hold the second place in her heart, if her dancing holds the first.”

“She is a spectacular dancer. I’ve never seen anyone so graceful and in control of every movement. And she loves you very much. You chose a wonderful wife, Gérard.”

“I think so,” Gérard replies, with a soft smile. “Amélie is the only woman in the world to me. Had I not met her, I think I never should have married.”

Gabe is about to say the same about Jack, but stops himself, remembering that the Lacroix are not aware of their relationship. It costs him a pang, being unable to share their happiness with their closest friends, but that is the way things have to be for now. Maybe one day they will be allowed to stand side by side in public, finally free of the decades-long concealment of their marriage, but that day, if it ever comes, is still far off. Instead, he smiles and shakes his friend’s hand, then goes down to his office to make his preparations for short-notice travel to Japan.

 


	77. The Castle

Jesse and his luggage have been safely deposited in a guest room in the main hall of Shimada Castle. Jesse lies on a soft, comfortable sleeping mat on the tatami floor, and Hanzo has remained with him to await the diagnosis from the Shimada family physician. The physician is a pleasant, middle-aged Japanese man with wire-rimmed spectacles and the customary black bag and white coat. He asks Jesse some questions regarding his injuries, then places two fingers on his left wrist to take his pulse.

“You might wanna try the other one, doc,” Jesse says. “That there’s my robot arm.”

The doctor lifts Jesse’s arm and inspects it carefully. Hanzo bends down to to get a closer look at it, as well.

“Ah, I see,” the doctor says, pushing up his spectacles. “This is a prosthetic. Yes, here is the intersection, but it is almost undetectable. It is very well made, Mr. McCree.”

“Ain’t it? Looks just like the real thing,” Jesse says, wiggling the fingers of his left hand. “Feels like it, too. My doc’s pretty good.”

“It would seem so,” the doctor smiles. “I have never seen one quite like it.”

He checks Jesse’s pulse in his right wrist, then unsnaps Jesse’s shirt and opens it to expose his torso. He touches the bruised ribs carefully, assessing where they are injured, then takes a small, rectangular device from his black bag and tells Jesse to lie still. He holds the device over Jesse’s ribcage for a moment. It chirps and he takes it away, examining the screen.

“Two of your ribs are fractured,” he says. “There is not much that will aid their healing aside from rest, but I can give you something for the pain, if you are uncomfortable. Your left leg was also injured?”

“One of them fellas kicked me in the back of the knee pretty hard. Hurt like a son of a bitch, too. I thought my leg was clean broke at first.”

“I will examine it and we will see. May I remove your trousers?”

“You do what you gotta do, doc,” Jesse says. “Thanks for patchin’ me up.”

Jesse unbuttons his fly and the doctor helps him peel off his tight-fitting blue jeans. The area around his knee is visibly swollen and is already beginning to show an ugly, purple bruise, to match the ones on his ribs. The doctor scans it with the same device.

“No fractures,” he says. “Contusions and severe inflammation around the tendons. It should be bandaged and kept elevated to prevent further swelling.”

Jesse grits his teeth as the doctor wraps a long, white bandage tightly around his knee, then props it up on some pillows. He has almost entirely sobered up now, and he is physically exhausted and in a great deal of pain. He refuses painkillers, however, so the doctor gives him a bottle of simple anti-inflammatory tablets that he is to take every six hours. He shows Jesse how to do some deep breathing exercises to prevent pneumonia while his ribs heal, and instructs him to rest and keep his knee elevated as much as possible. In addition, Jesse is to soak in the mineral bath for at least thirty minutes every day, and must avoid any strenuous activity for three to four weeks.

The physician bids Jesse farewell and departs, bowing deeply to Hanzo, who he addresses as “young master,” much to Jesse’s amusement. Hanzo sees him out, then turns to speak to Jesse, but his eyes have fallen shut and he is already dozing off. He kneels beside the mat and shakes him gently.

“Huh? What? I wadn’t sleepin’,” Jesse says blearily. “What’s up?”

“I am going to help you remove your shirt,” Hanzo says. “Unless you wish to sleep in it.”

He supports Jesse as he sits up, then gently tugs the shirt off one arm, then the other, and lowers him back onto his pillows.

Jesse flashes him an impish grin. “Y’know, if you just wanted to get my clothes off, all’s you had to do was ask.”

Hanzo’s fair cheeks color slightly as his eyes dart inadvertently to Jesse’s nearly naked body. He stands up abruptly.

“I was merely being courteous, Mr. McCree,” he says, with a haughty toss of his long, black hair. “I was not attempting to—I must go. Touch that button if you need anything. A servant will attend to you.”

Hanzo retreats hastily from the room, sliding the door shut behind him. Jesse laughs to himself, then clutches his side and groans as his broken ribs protest with a stab of pain. He drifts off to sleep battered and aching, and dreaming about the soft, rose-colored blush rising into those beautiful cheeks.

It seems as if he has only just fallen asleep, when he is startled into consciousness by Genji’s voice, cheerfully demanding that he wake up. He opens his heavy eyelids and blinks groggily in the bright sunlight streaming in through the linen curtains. His head is pounding and his entire body aches.

“Mornin’ Genj,” he says, smiling feebly.

“Jesse, you are so lazy,” Genji laughs. “You must sleep more than anyone I have ever met.”

“Ain’t a fella allowed to get some rest after he’s took a beatin’ like I did? I feel like I been on the losin’ end of a disagreement with a freight-train.”

“I heard you were assaulted in the street last night,” Genji says, becoming serious. “Were there very many of them?”

“Six, I think. I was drunker’n a poet on payday and I ain’t seen ‘em till it was too late. Hanzo come along and sent ‘em packin’, though.”

“I know. He says my father told him to look after you. You and I have been seen in public together very often lately, and it seems that this has attracted the attention of a rival clan.”

“I guess that makes sense, only I can’t figure why they’d want to rough me up about it. I don’t know nothin’ about y’all’s business.”

“It is likely enough for them that you have become close with a son of the Shimada Clan’s Master. I am very sorry, Jesse. I did not wish to endanger you by our friendship.”

“Aw, Genj, it ain’t your fault. I like hangin’ out with you and I’m glad we got to bein’ friends. If y’all’s enemies want to take issue with it, I’m ready. They won’t find it so easy to get the drop on Jesse James McCree again.”

“Your name is Jesse James?” Genji says, laughing delightedly. “Like the real outlaw from the wild west?”

“Sure is,” Jesse grins. “I earned it, too. I don’t talk about it much, seein’ as I left that life behind me, but back when I was a kid, I was a real, honest-to-god outlaw. Wanted by the sheriffs and everything.”

“Really?” Genji says, his eyes growing wide with wonder. “Jesse, that is very exciting. You must tell me all about it. Did you have a bounty on your head? Did you ever kill anyone? Were you ever shot? Did you have your own wanted poster?”

Jesse laughs, then gasps and clutches his side. “Hang on there, pard. I gotta catch my breath a minute.”

“Oh, Jesse, you are in pain! Shall I call the doctor?”

“Naw, I’ll be ok. He left some pills there on the dresser. Could you grab me one of ‘em and that pitcher of water?”

Jesse swallows one of the anti-inflammatory tablets, then gulps down three full glasses of water. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was, and now his stomach is beginning to rumble with hunger, as well.

“Say, Genj, any chance a fella could get a bit of breakfast?” he asks. “I don’t mean to be no trouble, only I’m so hungry I’m ‘most ready to eat a horse.”

“It is no trouble at all,” Genji says cordially. “Our kitchen can prepare anything you desire to eat.”

“Anything? Like even American food and whatnot?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I’d just about kill for a big ol’ plate of eggs and bacon with some toast and coffee, if they got those things.”

Genji presses the button on the wall that Hanzo had indicated to Jesse the previous night. After a moment or two, there is a soft knock at the door and a pretty young woman in a black silk kimono enters. Genji speaks to her in Japanese, then she bows and hurries off. Jesse goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth and splash some water on his face while they wait for his breakfast to arrive. He finds a yukata hanging on a peg on the bathroom wall, so he puts it on and then returns to his friend.

“I have already eaten,” Genji says, as he helps Jesse back into his bed. “But I will sit with you, if you do not mind. I would like very much to hear about your life as an American outlaw.”

“That’s fine with me, but I gotta warn you it ain’t a pretty story. I was in a biker-gang called the Deadlocks and they was about as rough as they come.”

“Jesse, you cannot have been a Deadlock,” Genji says, raising a dubious eyebrow. “They are famous criminals. We know of them even here in Japan.”

“Well I was,” Jesse says, pulling up the left sleeve of his yukata to show Genji the inside of his forearm. “What you think this tattoo was for? Showin’ off?”

Jesse’s tattoo depicts a black skull with chains extending outward in an “X” shape, like a skull and crossbones, and a pair of wings spread out on each side. It is wearing an eyepatch over one socket and has a padlock beneath its chin, and is enclosed by two arched banners. The one at the top reads “DEADLOCK” and the one at the bottom reads “REBELS”. Between the skull and the upper banner, smaller text reads “EST. 1976”, and there is a black star on each end of the lower banner.

The tattoo isn’t the original, since Jesse’s left arm had been severed up to the elbow in Nepal. It is an exact, faithful replication, however, right down to the coarse inkwork and slightly irregular spacing between the letters. He had asked that it be included in the design of his prosthetic, and Angela had obliged, understanding how important it was to the boy that his new arm be as much like his own as possible.

“I must admit that I supposed it was only for the sake of fashion,” Genji says, eyeing the roughly-inked design.

“I guess anyone can get a tattoo, so I won’t hold it against you,” Jesse says. “But I got some stories to go with it that’ll put hair on your skinny little chest, my friend.”

“My chest is not skinny and little!” Genji laughs.

“It’s skinny compared to mine,” Jesse says, puffing out his chest and instantly regretting it. “Ow, shit! I gotta remember to remind myself my ribs is broke.”

“Come, Jesse, do not keep me in such suspense! Tell me!”

“Let’s see, where do I start…there was that time we got in a turf war with the Caballeros Locos. They was another biker gang outta Texas and they was tryina expand theirselves into Deadlock country. That’s a pretty good one. We sent ‘em runnin’ home with their tails between their legs and somethin’ to think about on the way.

Oh! and one time we had a run-in with some Mara Salvatrucha boys. They was a buncha hard-ass Salvadorans and shit, based outta LA. That’s the only time I ever seen Hacksaw look nervous, when they rolled into town. They was runnin’ drugs and we was in the gun business, so we wadn’t steppin’ on each other’s toes, but those motherfuckers ain’t nothin’ to play with, so shit was tense. But they come to see Hacksaw and was real polite about it. Turned out they was lookin’ for a couple drivers of theirs that made off with ten million or so in cocaine comin’ up through El Paso from Culiacán.

Hacksaw got on the horn and lit some fires under some asses, and in about an hour, we knew when the truck come through, where it stopped, and got a pretty fair idea where it was headed. I guess they found it, cause after that, they made a deal with Hacksaw to have Deadlocks protect their trucks whenever they come through the state.”

“That is very impressive. But who is Hacksaw? How was he able to exert such influence?”

“Hacksaw was the chief. He had a pretty big network of folks for keepin’ an eye on things and doin’ little favors for us. We was at the top of the heap with a bunch of smaller gangs under us. They paid in a cut of the take from their jobs and helped out when Hacksaw asked ‘em to. In return, they got our protection and got to wear red skull patches so anyone that wanted to mess with ‘em would know they was gonna be messin’ with the Deadlocks. Hacksaw had about half the local businesses and most of the El Paso border guards in his pocket, too, so findin’ one truck wadn’t that big a deal.”

“That sounds very similar to the way the Shimada Clan operates,” Genji says musingly. “I did not imagine that a motorcycle gang could control such a complex system of loyalty and tribute.”

“The Deadlocks wadn’t just a biker gang. They was arms dealers, too. I think most big syndicates gotta operate like that, else they wouldn’t stay in business long. That was top level stuff, though. I didn’t get into that till I proved I could handle the grunt work.”

“Grunt work? Like what?”

“I did some pretty big train heists and some other things and built up a reputation for bein’ reliable and a good shot. Then Hacksaw took me on as kinda his assistant and taught me all about buyin’ and sellin’ guns.”

Jesse pauses, as there is another knock at the door. Two servants enter this time, one carrying a heavily loaded tray and the other bearing a pot of coffee. Genji helps Jesse sit up and arranges the pillows behind him, then the servants set out his breakfast on a tray that has little legs so it can sit over his lap.

The meal consists of a mountain of fluffy, golden scrambled eggs, thick, crispy slices of bacon, a stack of wheat toast buttered and cut into triangles, a bowl of melon slices, a glass of some sort of fruit juice Jesse does not recognize, and of course, the pot of steaming-hot coffee. Jesse forgets his friend for the moment and concentrates all his attention on consuming the delicious food in front of him.

“Jesse, you must slow down,” Genji admonishes. “You will make yourself ill. Besides, you were telling me a story.”

“Oh, sorry, Genj,” Jesse says, through a mouthful of toast. “The boss always says I got the manners of a stray dog. Where was I?”

“Train heists,” Genji says eagerly. “I would very much like to hear about those.”

Jesse wipes his mouth with his napkin and limits himself to more reasonable bites as he describes the basics of train robberies, which had been his particular specialty. Before he has finished his breakfast, he has explained to Genji how to go about boarding a slow-moving train, how to slow down a fast one without derailing it, how to position your men for an assault, how to control a crowd of panicked passengers, and even how to crack a time-locked safe.

If Genji had any doubts regarding his friend’s truthfulness at the beginning of the conversation, he has none by the end. He is certain he has come across a real-life Jesse James, and he is over the moon with the romance and adventure of Jesse’s past.

“But Jesse,” he says, after he has digested some of the information. “The top tier of the Deadlock gang was entirely wiped out by Overwatch several years ago. How did you escape?”

Jesse’s heart sinks like a stone in his chest as he recalls with vivid, searing clarity, that scene in the New Mexico desert, the night Commander Reyes’ men dropped out of the sky and killed everyone Jesse knew. For a moment, the screams and gunshots ring in his ears. He feels the heat of the explosions on his face and the wind knocked out of his lungs as he is hurled onto his back in the dirt. He hears the Commander’s voice rumbling in his ear.

_Shut the fuck up. I’m saving your fucking life._

He swallows it. The memory, the pain, the cold, sick feeling in his stomach. Swallows it all and buries it deep down in a black pit at the bottom of his soul.

He smiles cheerfully at Genji. “I was already long gone by then. Lucky, too. I hear they killed just about every single one of ‘em. Don’t worry, though. They was all real bad guys. Overwatch is the good guys.”

“I know,” Genji nods. “My father says that they keep many people safe. Even our family, though we do not operate strictly within the bounds of the law, owes much of its prosperity to Overwatch.”

“That a fact?” Jesse says, surprised to hear that the head of a Yakuza syndicate would express such an idea to his son. “How do you mean?”

“My father says that Overwatch guards the peace between nations and prevents another war that would kill many and destroy much that is good in the world. We rely upon this peace for conducting our trade. There can be no commerce without people who are free to buy and sell goods to one another.”

“I never thought of it that way,” Jesse says. “Your pa sounds like a smart fella, Genj.”

“He is very wise,” Genji says. Then he grins mischievously. “Though I sometimes wish he were not so wise. It would be easier to get away with doing things of which he disapproves.”

“Y’know, you keep sayin’ he’s strict, but I ain’t never seen him make you get home early or do your chores or nothin’. I ain’t seen him at all, come to think of it.”

“You would not have seen him. He has been in Hong Kong overseeing business matters for some time. He will return soon.”

“Won’t he be mad I been stayin’ in his house without his leave, though?”

“He is aware that you are here. I have told him all about you, and Hanzo has been in regular communication with him, as well. He is most displeased with the Imagawa Clan for assaulting a friend of mine in our home town. The offense will not pass unanswered.”

The servants return to clear away Jesse’s breakfast things. On their way out, one of them stops and speaks a few words to Genji, who nods and rises.

“My tutor has arrived and I must go to my studies,” he says to Jesse. “I will return later, and you must tell me more about your life as a Deadlock.”

“Ok, I’ll see you later,” Jesse says. “Hey, one thing. The doc told me I should soak in the mineral bath today. He don’t expect me to get myself all the way across town to the onsen, does he?”

“No, no,” Genji laughs. “There is a private onsen here at the castle that you may use. A servant will come to take you, when you wish to go.”

After Genji departs, Jesse takes his phone from the night table to report in to the Commander.

BWM-003: hey boss i got 2 busted ribs an a hurt knee

BWM-003: their docs takin care a me

BWM-003: they stuck me in a real nice room with a futon on the floor an give me breakfast in bed

BWM-003: i reckon i could get used to livin in a castle

Jesse waits a few minutes for a response, then realizes that it is just past three in the morning in Switzerland, and the Commander is probably asleep. He puts his phone down and pulls himself laboriously out of bed, trying not to disturb his injured ribs too much. He puts on a pair of flat sandals that are waiting by the door, then presses the button to summon a servant, despite feeling immensely awkward doing so.

The pretty young woman from earlier arrives shortly. He finds that she does not speak English, but with very minor difficulty, he is able to make her understand that he wants to use the mineral bath. He follows her across the deck outside his room and down a set of steps to a smooth, sandstone walkway. It winds through the tranquil garden to a sort of small, octagonal house with a pagoda roof. She slides the door open and he follows her inside.

The interior is comprised almost entirely of one large room, all made of some aromatic-scented red wood. Built into the wood floor in the center of the room, there is a long, rectangular mineral bath that looks large enough to accommodate ten or twelve people. Low benches line the walls, and there are stacks of neatly-folded towels on each of them. The young woman opens another door and shows Jesse the shower. She holds up one finger and points to it, then two fingers and indicates to the bath. He nods, understanding that he is meant to shower before entering the bath, then she bows and departs.

He hangs his yukata on a peg and unwraps the bandage from his knee before showering briefly, eager to get into the soothing mineral bath. He rolls up a towel and places it on the edge of the tub to use as a sort of bath pillow, then he carefully lowers himself into the steaming water. He rests his head on his makeshift pillow, letting the hot water cradle and soothe his stiff, aching body. He thinks he’s never felt anything so marvelous in his life, and he wonders what it would take to talk the boss into getting one of these onsen things built at HQ.

He shuts his eyes and begins his breathing exercise, as per the doctor’s instructions. His mind follows various, vague trains of thought, and eventually he finds himself thinking about Ben. He hasn’t spoken to him since his first night in the hotel, when they had that video call. He remembers that Ben had seemed upset when they hung up, but that he hadn’t understood why. He hopes he’s ok. He likes Ben and they’ve had a lot of fun together.

He decides he’ll send him a text when he gets back to his room to say hello and see how he’s doing back in Switzerland. He’ll ask him to say howdy to Karl for him, too. All thoughts of the pretty blonde are obliterated from his mind when he hears someone enter the bath house, and opens his eyes to see the magnificently beautiful face of the elder Shimada brother looking down at him.

“Howdy, Hanzo,” Jesse says. “What can I do for ya?”

“Hello, Mr. McCree,” Hanzo says. “Eiko told me I could find you here. I wish to speak with you.”

Jesse grins. “Well, I ain’t gettin’ out, so if you wanna talk, it looks like you gonna have to get in.”

“I can speak to you very well from where I am,” Hanzo replies testily. “I do not have time to waste in the bath.”

Jesse, however, is in no mood to be talked down to. Self-importance of any kind brings his strongly defiant streak rushing to the surface, and Hanzo’s particular manner of assuming his own superiority irresistibly compels Jesse to do whatever he can to ruffle the boy’s proud feathers.

“Naw, I don’t reckon you can,” he drawls lazily. “You can wait for me to finish my soak, or you can hop in here and have a sociable chat with me like a civilized gentleman. Your choice.”

Hanzo’s black eyes spark. He whirls about and stalks back toward the bath house door. Jesse assumes he means to leave, but instead, he stops and slides the door shut with a bang. Jesse stares in blank amazement as the boy rapidly strips off his white and pale-blue linen garments (and oddly incongruous black briefs), leaving them where they fall on the floor. Looking Jesse steadily in the eye, as if he answering a challenge, he climbs into the bath and stands chest-deep in the water before him.

“Holy shit, Hanzo,” Jesse sputters, sitting up straight and backing against the side of the tub. “I was just jokin’. I didn’t think you’d—y’know—get all your gear off and just jump on in here with me.”

“Please, Mr. McCree,” Hanzo says disdainfully. “I am not burdened by your puritanical American ideas about nudity. I am perfectly comfortable speaking to you here, if that is your wish.”

“Well…alright then,” Jesse says, thrown off balance by the bold and unexpected move. “What do you wanna talk about?”

“I wish to know whether you have contacted your superiors at Overwatch,” Hanzo says. “And I wish to know what their intentions are regarding my family.”

“That’s two different questions. My Commander knows where I am and what happened with them Imagawas. What his intentions are, that’s somethin’ I’m only meant to discuss with the Master.”

“I act under my father’s full authority, as I told you,” Hanzo replies impatiently. “You may speak to me as you would the Master.”

Jesse shakes his head. “I can’t, Hanzo. You got your pa’s authority and that’s just fine, but I don’t. I ain’t authorized to talk to you about it. I don’t mean no offense to you, but that’s my orders.”

“My father is traveling outside the country on business and may not return for some time. Who is authorized to speak to me, if you are not?”

“Commander Reyes can talk to you or anyone else you want him to.”

“And you can put me in contact with Commander Reyes, yes?”

“I can.”

“Very well. I would like you to do so.”

“I figured, but would you mind if I finish my bath first? The doc told me I gotta stay in for at least a half hour.”

“Of course,” Hanzo says, softening somewhat. “I did not intend to interfere with your recuperation. I apologize for my rudeness, Mr. McCree.”

“Please, just call me Jesse.”

“Jesse,” Hanzo says. He lowers his eyes and looks as if he is searching for words. “How are…are you in very much pain?”

“I still feel like I got a couple busted ribs, if that’s what you mean, but it don’t hurt nothin’ like it did a little while ago. This mineral water’s doin’ a damn miracle on me. You should stay and have a soak. Might do you some good, too.”

Hanzo hesitates a moment. “I…suppose I should not waste the opportunity, since I have already gotten in. But I cannot remain long.”

“Suit yourself,” Jesse says, sounding as disinterested as he can. “I’m just as happy to sit in here on my own, too.”

Hanzo moves to the side of the tub opposite Jesse and reclines against it, closing his eyes and breathing meditatively. Jesse takes the opportunity to admire that fascinating face, with its flawless, pale-olive complexion and frame of jet-black hair. His eyes travel down the heavy, silky braid that hangs over an impeccably sculpted shoulder, to Hanzo’s impressively intricate tattoo.

It is in a traditional Japanese art style, and depicts a roaring blue dragon, which begins on the left side of his chest and twines around his arm all the way down to the wrist, interwoven with dark blue storm clouds and brilliant gold lighting bolts. Jesse hadn’t gotten a good look at it when they went to the onsen that first night, and now that he has, he can’t help but be a little envious. His own tattoo seems tiny and ridiculous in comparison.

“Jesse,” Hanzo says, without opening his eyes. “Your mind is wandering.”

Jesse laughs aloud. “Well, you said you wadn’t offended I liked lookin’ at you. Can’t blame a fella for starin’ when you as good as gave him permission.”

The black eyes open and catch Jesse’s amber-brown ones in their keen gaze. Jesse stares back helplessly, transfixed by their strange beauty. His heart pounds and he can hear his blood rushing in his ears, and he says a silent prayer of thanks to the onsen gods that the dissolved minerals in the water make it fairly opaque. After a moment that feels like a century, Hanzo releases Jesse’s eyes.

“I must go,” he says. “I have many duties to which I must attend today. You will be alright on your own?”

“I’ll be just fine,” Jesse says, in a more unsteady voice than he would have wished. “Thanks for...uh…chattin’ with me.”

“I will find you later and we will contact your Commander,” Hanzo says, turning to climb out of the bath.

Jesse looks discreetly down at the water, though it takes all his willpower to do so, as the beautiful boy pulls himself gracefully up out of the bath. Hanzo goes to the shower to rinse off, then comes back to dry himself and collect his clothing. Jesse has laid his head back on his towel and shut his eyes in order to foil the devil that is tempting him, so he does not see the lingering glance the young master casts on the handsome American as he dresses, nor the smile that passes over his face as he does so.

After Hanzo takes his leave, Jesse finishes his bath and makes his way back to his room on his own, not wanting to bother a servant to help him. He picks up his phone to see if the Commander has responded. There are no messages, so having nothing to do for the moment, he lies down on his sleeping mat to daydream about the black-eyed angel and his remarkable tattoo. He is beginning to doze off, when his phone chirps.

BWR-002: Have you spoken with Sojiro yet?

BWM-003: no an i ain’t seen him neither

BWM-003: i wanted to talk to you about that

BWM-003: there’s somethin don’t feel right here

BWR-002: How do you mean?

BWM-003: well Hanzo an Genji both told me their pa is outa the country on business an has been for a while

BWM-003: thing is our intel don’t put him nowhere else

BWM-003: far as i can figure he should be right here in Hanamura

BWR-002: I wonder what that means.

BWR-002: Our intel might just be out of date. I’ll find out what we’ve got on his current location.

BWR-002: Anything else?

BWM-003: yeah Hanzo asked me to get him in contact with you today

BWM-003: says he actin under his pa’s authority an you can talk to him same as if he was the Master

BWM-003: seemed real urgent about it too

BWM-003: i’m tellin ya boss somethins goin on here we ain’t reckoned on

BWR-002: That does sound strange. When does he want to talk to me?

BWM-003: he didn’t say he just said later

BWR-002: Ok. I’ll make sure I can be reached.

BWR-002: Until then, keep your eyes and ears open and let me know if you hear anything that might be useful.

BWM-003: gotcha boss

Shortly after noon, the physician returns to check on Jesse’s condition. He asks a few questions, inspects his ribs, and and re-wraps his knee. He is pleasantly surprised to see how much better Jesse’s injuries look since last night, and he departs telling Jesse he won’t need to see him again for a few days. Jesse is quickly growing bored and anxious, and he decides it’s about time he got dressed, anyway.

He finds his clothing already neatly hung in the closet, and his socks and underclothing folded into little squares in the top drawer of the dresser. He pulls on his customary well-worn blue jeans, wondering how the servants were able to do all that without him noticing. He chooses a white and blue checked shirt with pearl snaps, then goes to the bathroom to inspect his appearance in the mirror.

There is scruffy stubble growing on his chin and jaw. He rather likes the rough, roguish way it makes him look, so he forgoes shaving and limits his grooming to a quick rake of his fingers through his unruly mop of chestnut-brown hair. He can’t think of anything else to do, so he takes his cigarettes and goes out onto the deck for a smoke.

He finds a wooden bench and large brass ashtray near the door to his room. He sits down and lights a cigarette, gazing about him and soaking in the scenery. He tries to imagine Genji and Hanzo growing up in this place, surrounded by the serene, stately beauty of the castle grounds. Of course a home like this produced a boy like Hanzo, who conducts himself exactly like the young aristocrat and heir to an empire that he is. Genji is different. He seems almost out of place here. He is more like Jesse. Wild and restless, yearning for freedom and adventure. 

Jesse’s heart swells with pity for his young friend, trapped behind castle walls by the circumstances of his birth and isolated from outside world. He wonders if Genji has ever had any real friends of his own. Beneath the boy’s relentlessly cheerful façade, Jesse senses a deep well of loneliness and desperate longing for human connection with which he empathizes painfully. He hopes that however this all turns out, he and Genji will be able to remain friends. He’s already become dearly attached to the boy, and it would break his heart to lose him now. He is extinguishing his second cigarette in the ashtray, when he looks up to see Hanzo approaching.

“Hey there, Hanzo,” he says. “I thought you was busy all day.”

“I am very busy,” Hanzo replies. “But I must speak with your Commander as soon as possible. I have come to ask when this can be arranged.”

“I talked to him a little while ago. He says he’ll be available any time you want to give him a call.”

“Excellent. Thank you, Mr. Mc—Jesse. Are you free to do this now?”

“Sure,” Jesse says, rising from the bench. “How do you want to do it? I can call him on my phone, or we can do a video call from my computer, or I can just give you a number to reach him, if you like.”

Hanzo considers this for a moment. “A video call would be best, I think. I would prefer to see the face of the man with whom I am speaking.”

“Alright, then. Come on in my room and I’ll set it up.”

 


	78. Sometimes

BWM-003: hey boss Hanzo wants to do a video call with you

BWM-003: you free now?

BWR-002: Yep. I’m walking to my office. Give me five minutes.

BWM-003: ok

“The boss says he needs five minutes, then we’ll call him,” Jesse says, turning to Hanzo. “His name’s Commander Gabriel Reyes. He’s second in command at Overwatch and head of my division, which is Blackwatch.”

Hanzo nods, looking uneasily at the computer screen as Jesse opens the Overwatch network and prepares the call. He gets up to give Hanzo the seat at the desk. Hanzo sits silent and perfectly still, with his hands folded in his lap while they wait to place the call. Jesse is curious to see how the young heir’s haughty self-assurance will go over with the boss. He’s never seen anyone talk down to Commander Reyes before, and he’s not sure what to expect. When the five minutes are up, Jesse hits the button to connect the call. After a moment, the Commander appears on the screen, sitting at his desk.

“Hey Jesse,” he says. “Can you hear me ok?”

“Yes, sir,” Jesse replies, leaning over Hanzo’s shoulder so his face is visible on the screen. “Commander, this is Shimada Hanzo. Hanzo, this is Commander Gabriel Reyes.”

“Shimada san,” Gabe says, dipping his head respectfully.

“Commander Reyes,” Hanzo replies, gracefully craning his neck in a low bow. “I am honored to make your acquaintance, sir. Thank you for taking time to speak with me.”

Much to Jesse’s surprise, the Commander replies in Japanese. Hanzo lowers his black eyes and smiles shyly, then replies in Japanese, as well. The interchange between Hanzo and the Commander continues in this fashion, and Jesse has nothing to do but wait and grow increasingly curious to know what is passing between the two. He had no idea the boss spoke Japanese at all, let alone with this much fluency.

More than that, however, Jesse is awestruck by the total change in Hanzo’s demeanor. He suddenly seems childlike and demure, almost meek, as he speaks to the older man. The disdainful superiority is all gone from the black eyes, and his voice is soft and low. Jesse can’t understand what is being said, but he gets the distinct impression that he is watching a boy humbly supplicate to an elder for some sort of assistance. They speak for quite some time, and apparently reach some kind of agreement, as Hanzo bows his head, saying, “Hai. Doumo Arigatou Gozaimasu.”

“Jesse,” the Commander says. “You still there?”

“I’m here,” Jesse says, leaning over Hanzo’s shoulder again. “What’s up, boss?”

“Hanzo will explain things later, but I’m coming to Hanamura myself. I’ll be there the day after tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir,” Jesse nods.

“Hanzo, it was a pleasure to speak with you. I look forward to meeting you in person. You boys keep in touch and let me know if anything comes up.”

“Thank you, Commander Reyes,” Hanzo says, bowing once more. “I look forward to meeting you in person, as well. Goodbye.”

“See ya, boss,” Jesse chimes in.

“See you later, boys,” the Commander says, then he touches a button and the call disconnects.

Jesse steps back and crosses his arms, eyeing Hanzo cagily as he rises from the chair.

“What are you doing, Jesse?” Hanzo asks. “Why are you looking at me that way?”

“What way? Like I just seen you turn into a whole different person while you was talkin’ to the boss? That the way?”

“I do not understand what you mean,” Hanzo says, with a dismissive toss of his head. “I am the same person now as I was a moment ago.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, princess,” Jesse says, pointing a finger at him. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“Princess!” Hanzo snaps. He clenches his fists at his sides and takes a step toward Jesse. “I am not a princess, you absurd cowboy. I am the son of the Master of the Shimada clan. You would do well to remember that when you address me.”

“Alright, alright, I shouldn’ta called ya princess,” Jesse says, lifting his hands as if in surrender. “I shoulda said queen.”

Hanzo’s black eyes narrow and his jaw sets, as if he is preparing an angry retort, but suddenly, his composure cracks and he bursts out in a musical laugh. Jesse can’t help but laugh, too, from sheer astonishment and delight at his unexpected reaction.

“That was very funny, Jesse,” Hanzo says, still laughing. Then he sighs and collects himself. “I have been behaving dreadfully, I know. You must forgive me. I have been…quite distressed for some time, and I have not treated you very courteously.”

“That’s alright. I forgive you. What on earth you so distressed about, anyhow? Can I help you somehow?”

“You have already been a great help to me by putting me in contact with your Commander,” Hanzo says. “Your arrival at this time has been most fortuitous for many reasons.”

“I’m glad to hear it, but would you mind explainin’ a little bit? I’m pretty much in the dark, here.”

Jesse studies the boy’s face. His entire aspect has changed, somehow. He looks…relieved. As if he has been laboring under an enormous burden, only to find that it has suddenly vanished, leaving him able to move and breathe freely again.

“I will tell you what your Commander wished me to share with you,” Hanzo says. “But otherwise, I must ask for your patience. Commander Reyes desires to be present when we discuss it in detail.”

“Fair enough,” Jesse says. “I’m all ears.”

“Under my father’s instructions, I have invited Commander Reyes here to arrange an understanding between Overwatch and the Shimada Clan. He said you had spoken together of such a possibility, so the idea should not be unfamiliar to you.”

“We did,” Jesse says. “That’s why I’m here.”

Hanzo nods. “He also told me that you were the one who discovered certain…shifts in our commercial dealings and alerted him to what they suggested.”

“Yep. That was me. Sorry for spyin’ around in your family’s private business, but…you know.” Jesse grins. “I _am_ a spy.”

“No apology is necessary. I am impressed by your astuteness in the matter,” Hanzo says, with a slight bow. “Your vigilance may prove vital to…but I will not speak of that now. I will only say thank you, Jesse. You have lifted a heavy care from my mind.”

“I’m real happy to help, Hanzo,” Jesse says earnestly. “I don’t think a thing like this has ever been done.”

“I do not think so, no.”

“So, I guess all’s we gotta do now is just wait for the boss to get here.”

“It appears that way,” Hanzo says. He hesitates, fidgeting with the sleeve of his kimono. “Jesse…would you care to have a drink with me? To—to formalize our arrangement, I mean.”

“Nope,” Jesse says flatly.

Hanzo blinks, then his cheeks flush and he looks away. “Oh. I—I did not mean to—”

“Hold up a sec,” Jesse laughs. “What I mean is, I’ll have a drink with you, but only if you askin’ me cause you want to spend time together like friends. If it’s about formalizin’ this and that professional thing, then I’ll have to politely decline.”

“I would like to spend time together,” Hanzo says, smiling self-consciously. “Like friends.”

“Alright, then. Let’s have a drink, Hanzo,” Jesse grins.

Hanzo pushes the button on the wall to summon a servant. “Will a bottle of sake be satisfactory?”

“Sounds good to me. I ain’t gonna drink much, if you don’t mind, though. I’m still pretty raw from last night.”

“It is two o’clock in the afternoon, Jesse. I did not mean that we should get drunk.”

Hanzo gives the order to the servant, then he and Jesse go out onto the deck so Jesse can smoke. Hanzo sits on the bench and Jesse stands across from him, leaning languidly on the wooden rail. He lights a cigarette and exhales a plume of white smoke, watching it curl and shudder, and dissipate in the gentle breeze.

A man arrives in a few minutes with a tray bearing a ceramic decanter and a matching pair of short, wide-mouthed ceramic cups. Hanzo pours the clear, aromatic liquid into the cups and hands one to Jesse, who remembers to bow properly and thank him. They sip their cold beverages in silence for a few minutes.

“Tell me somethin’, Hanzo,” Jesse says. “What made you strip down and jump in the bath with me like that? I thought you plum lost your mind, for a minute there.”

“You…suggested that I should behave as a gentleman,” Hanzo says slowly. “I felt that you were challenging my position, and I wished to regain control of the situation.” He smiles mischievously. “It was an effective way to gain my point, was it not?”

“Sure as shit it was effective,” Jesse laughs. “But what you gonna do the next time you tryina make a point? Kinda hard to beat that.”

“I believe I could think of something, were I pressed,” Hanzo replies deadpan, looking Jesse in the eye.

Jesse chokes on the drag of his cigarette he is inhaling and has to turn and clutch the rail, coughing and sputtering, and spilling his sake in the process.

“You are very easy to fluster, Jesse,” Hanzo laughs. “That is odd for a man who is a spy by profession.”

“I’m real good at—fuck, that hurts—spyin’ though,” he pants, holding his side. “I keep forgettin’ my ribs is—ah! busted.”

“I am sorry, Jesse,” Hanzo says, jumping up to support him as he sways unsteadily on his feet. “I had nearly forgotten your injuries, as well.”

“Nah, don’t be. I only choked cause I was smokin’. I really should give up the old coffin nails one of these days.”

“You should be resting, as the doctor instructed.”

“Aw, but what about our drink and friendly chat?” Jesse pouts. “We was just gettin’ to enjoy ourselves.”

“I will bring the sake inside. Come, you must lie down. I insist.”

Jesse lets Hanzo help him back into his room, more because he is enjoying having the boy’s arm around him, than from any actual need of assistance. Hanzo gets Jesse situated comfortably on his pillows, then goes outside to retrieve the sake things. He sets the tray on Jesse’s night table and pours a fresh glass for each of them, then sits down on the edge of the bed.

“Don’t think I ain’t wise to your game, Shimada Hanzo,” Jesse says, squinting over the rim of his cup. “I see what you’re up to.”

“What am I up to, Jesse?”

“You’re tryina get me liquored up and in bed so’s you can take advantage of me.”

“I think perhaps you have had enough to drink for today,” Hanzo says, arching a black eyebrow.

“I think you might be right,” Jesse laughs. “This shit ain’t foolin’ around. It tastes as innocent as iced tea, but I only had a few glasses and I’m already tipsy. Here. Take it away ‘fore I do myself a mischief, would ya?”

Hanzo returns Jesse’s cup to the tray, but retains his own. He is only just beginning to sip at his second glass, and he was raised on this drink, so he is not as vulnerable to its effects. Jesse gazes dreamily up at him from his reclined position on the pillows.

“Hey Hanzo,” he sighs. “Anyone ever tell you you’re the most beautiful creature they ever saw in their whole life?”

“Anyone like who?” Hanzo says, looking down into his glass and swirling the clear liquid around.

“Anyone like—for instance—like me?”

Hanzo’s brow knits and he looks up at Jesse. “Why do you speak to me this way, Jesse?”

“What way?”

“As if I am…a girl.”

“A girl? How do you mean?” Jesse says, genuinely perplexed by the idea.

“You have stated openly that you…enjoy looking at me. And now you have called me beautiful. Men are not called beautiful by other men.”

“Maybe they ain’t where you come from, but I don’t reckon I give a damn about that kinda ridiculousness. If I see somethin’ beautiful, why can’t I call it as I see it?”

“It is simply not our custom,” Hanzo shrugs. “Other members of my clan would consider it a grave sign of disrespect.”

“Do you think it is?”

“No. I do not think that it is. But if you said such things to me in the hearing of others, I would be forced to treat it as an offense or risk losing honor among them.”

“I apologize, Hanzo,” Jesse says seriously. “I certainly didn’t mean no disrespect. I never woulda talked like that in front of other folks, anyway. But if it helps, I promise you I won’t.”

Hanzo dips his elegant chin in acknowledgement. “Thank you.”

Jesse crosses his arms and regards the other young man thoughtfully. “You’re a tough nut to crack, y’know that? I keep thinkin’ I got you figured out, but you keep flippin’ things around on me.”

“Do you believe I have presented myself as other than I am?”

“No, it ain’t that. It’s like…you got different layers that show at different times, know what I mean?”

“I suppose that is true of anyone. Do you not also have sides of yourself that you reveal only when it is appropriate?”

“If I do, I don’t know about ‘em. To me I seem pretty much the same all the time. You got sides that don’t even look like the same person. Like when I met you in the bookstore I had you pegged for a stuck up snob. And you been walkin’ around here like you run the world and talkin’ to me like a dog, but then sometimes you so kind and gentle all the sudden. You was like a little baby lamb when you was talkin’ to my boss, but when you come up on those fellas in the alley, you was a badass warrior like I never seen. It’s all you, but it’s like you got a lot of different yous. I only got one me.”

“Perhaps that is because you have been far more free to be who you choose than I have,” Hanzo says. He drains the contents of his glass and sighs wearily. “I have had many years of practice disguising myself. I sometimes think that I…that I do not know any longer, which of my faces is the true one.”

“Maybe they all true. It’s like your clothes, right? You ain’t gotta pick one shirt and throw out the others just cause they ain’t the same color. That’d be plain nonsense. It’s still you wearin’ ‘em.”

Hanzo sets his glass on the night table. He looks down at his hands for a moment, splaying them out as if he is reading something in his palms, then he looks up at Jesse.

“Jesse, would you like to kiss me?”

Jesse opens his mouth, then shuts it again, finding himself unable to make a sound. He swallows hard and finally manages to nod his head and say, “Uh huh.”

He holds his breath, staring wide-eyed at the beautiful boy as he moves closer. Hanzo reaches out his pale, graceful hands and lays them gently on either side of Jesse’s face. He leans in slowly and cautiously brushes his soft lips against Jesse’s. Jesse’s courage comes rushing belatedly to his aid. He pulls Hanzo into his arms and covers his perfect mouth with a deep, longing kiss. His head whirls as the kiss quite literally takes his breath away. His heart leaps and bucks, threatening to burst out of his chest. He gives a soft groan in the back of his throat as Hanzo’s sweet, searching tongue finds his and caresses it. After far too brief a moment, Hanzo draws away and looks up into Jesse’s eyes again.

“Holy fucking shit,” Jesse breathes. “I don’t think I ever been kissed like that before.”

“Did I…did I do it incorrectly?” Hanzo says, with a troubled expression. “I am inexperienced in such things.”

“Oh, no, darlin’,” Jesse says, taking the boy’s lovely face in his hands. “You did it just perfect. It was the most perfect kiss in the whole history of time, maybe.”

“Then…you liked it?” Hanzo says.

He pulls Jesse’s hands away from his face and holds them folded up with his in his lap.

“Liked it!” Jesse laughs. “I don’t want to do nothin’ else but kiss you forever and ever till I die.”

Hanzo’s cheeks flush and he looks away, attempting to appear as if he is not pleased. “You cannot mean that, you absurd cowboy. That is a ridiculous idea.”

“Try me, darlin’. I bet I do mean it.”

“You may kiss me once more. Then I must go. Genji will finish his lessons soon, and I do not wish for him to find me here.”

Hanzo gasps as Jesse lifts him onto his lap and kisses him with feverish intensity, pressing their bodies together so that he can feel Jesse’s rigid erection digging into his thigh through their clothing. He suddenly feels very small and helpless in the American’s powerful arms, and he finds that he does not dislike the sensation. Perhaps he would like this man to overpower him entirely. At last, he gently pries himself free of his amorous cowboy’s grasp and escapes, but only after promising he will return later tonight.

 

 

“How long will you be there?” Jack asks, watching as Gabe stows a crate of ammunition in a cargo bay on the TAAV.

“Don’t know,” Gabe says. “Hopefully not too long.”

He picks up a tablet from the countertop and taps at the screen, entering the ammunition into the TAAV’s manifest. Jack leans on the counter and sighs.

“What is it, baby?” Gabe asks, looking up from the screen.

“I just—I haven’t been without you since everything happened and I guess…I’m scared.”

“You’ll be ok,” Gabe says. He sets the tablet down and wraps his arms around Jack. “Zenyatta and Dr. Oshima will make sure you’re taken care of. And I really won’t be gone long. This thing is going to be a little more complicated than I hoped, but it’s nothing Jesse and I can’t handle.”

“I know,” Jack says, running his fingertips through Gabe’s beard. “I’m just being clingy. I’ve gotten spoiled having you all to myself so much lately. What about your new medical officer? You think she’ll do alright?”

“Yeah. She might be a little bored, actually. I don’t think we’ll have much need for a combat medic on this one.”

“So, how are you going to handle the whole…Jesse thing?”

“I don’t think I’m going to bring it up while we’re out on a mission, if that’s what you’re asking,” Gabe says. Then he shakes his head. “I think he’s probably got enough on his mind, anyway. You should see this Shimada kid, Jack. Holy shit.”

“Holy shit?” Jack says, raising his eyebrows. “Gabriel Reyes! You’re a married man!”

“I know it,” Gabe says, kissing Jack’s forehead. “And I’m married to the sexiest man in the world, but I still have eyes. The kid is—he’s just stunning, Jack. If he and Jesse aren’t already fucking, they will be. I guarantee it.”

“You don’t know that. He might not even be gay.”

Gabe laughs outright. “Ok, honey, you’re right. Maybe I’m wrong this one time and he’s not gay.”

“Ok, ok, I get it. But I hope Jesse doesn’t get himself into trouble. I don’t think those Yakuza guys are too fond of our kind. They’re pretty conservative.”

“Said the Commander of the biggest military organization in the world.”

“It’s not conservative just because it’s military. We’re working toward a lot of progressive goals.”

“Progressive. Wait, did you hire me just because I’m a gay Latino? I’m offended.”

“No, I hired you ‘cause I’m sleeping with you,” Jack says. He reaches over and pushes a button, and the cargo door on the TAAV begins to creak closed. “Speaking of which.”

“Oh yeah? You want to fuck in the heavily armed military aircraft, Commander?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Jack says, sliding his hands up under Gabe’s tight black t-shirt. “Remember Seoul?”

“I do.”

“And Beijing?” Jack unbuttons Gabe’s fly and eases his cock out of his underwear.

“Yeah. And Heidelberg and—ah! Madrid. Fuck. We’ve fucked all over the world, baby.”

Jack drops to his knees and teases the head of Gabe’s cock with flicks of his tongue. Gabe sits back against the counter, watching Jack’s mouth work down onto the shaft as he takes his thick, hard cock into his mouth all the way to the back of his throat.

“Look at me,” Gabe says hoarsely. “Look at me while you suck my cock.”

Jack raises his big, bright blue eyes and looks up into Gabe’s. He sits perfectly still, holding him in his wet, open mouth, waiting. He doesn’t gag anymore, and Gabe knows how long he can hold his breath. This is a game they’ve played before. How long can Gabe keep himself from losing control with Jack’s mouth wrapped around his cock.

Gabe is starting to pant. He grips the countertop with both hands. “Fuck…baby. I can’t—I can’t take it. Suck me. Please.”

Jack stares up at him. His tongue moves, writhing against the shaft of Gabe’s aching cock.

“Fuck!” Gabe groans. “Please, baby. Don’t torture me like this. Suck me!”

Jack’s jaw muscles shake and his throat contracts involuntary, trying to swallow his saliva. A stream of drool pours down his chin and drips onto the floor. Gabe’s willpower deserts him. He grabs hold of Jack’s head with both hands and thrusts desperately, fucking his mouth like he’s trying to split his skull. Jack hangs onto Gabe’s thighs. His head spins and spots begin to creep into his vision. His arms go limp and drop to his sides. Gabe stops instantly and pulls him up to his feet. Jack grins and takes hold of his cock again.

Gabe laughs. “So I guess you’re alright, then.”

“Gabe, I’ve passed out like, a hundred times while you’re choking me. It’s no different. Come on. Fuck me. That’s an order.”

“You’re the boss.”

Gabe pushes Jack roughly against the counter and bends him over it. He yanks his pants down just enough to expose his ass, then spreads him apart with one hand, spitting into the other and slicking his cock. Jack gasps and shudders as Gabe’s warm, wet tongue laps the rim of his asshole. He feels the slippery, swollen head pushing against the resistance. The slow, aching, stretching penetration. The wet, girthy slide of Gabe’s cock inside him. His cock drools on counter. He moans as Gabe hits the spot over and over, fucking him into an oblivion of ecstasy.

“I’m gonna—I’m gonna come,” he pants. “Harder. Fuck me.”

Gabe pounds Jack into the counter, knocking the tablet onto the floor and cracking the screen just as Jack’s cock convulses violently, spewing all over the countertop in front of him. Gabe pulls out abruptly out holds his cock throbbing and twitching in his hand as he comes, dousing Jack’s ass and the back of his blue uniform top.

“God damn it,” Jack laughs. “Now my uniform is covered in your come, Gabe.”

“I gotta mark my territory somehow,” Gabe says, grinning wickedly as Jack turns around.

Jack cranes his neck up and kisses him, then pulls away. “Fuck. I don’t have my jacket with me.”

“There’s none on your undershirt. Just take the blouse off.”

“I guess I’ll have to,” Jack says, unbuttoning the blue shirt and crumbling it into a ball. “But it’s going to look weird, me walking around in half my uniform.”

Gabe tucks in his shirt and zips up his fly. “I do it all the time. No one cares, baby.”

“Yeah, but you don’t wear a uniform, you wear a hoodie like an asshole,” Jack grins. “Actually, give me your jacket. I feel too naked like this.”

“You may as well walk around with my come all over your shirt, Jack. There’s not a much clearer way to say ‘we’re fucking’ than wearing each other’s clothes.”

“Ugh. Fine,” Jack says, then he looks around. “We should probably clean up this mess before anyone rides in here. Looks like that tablet’s done.”

“Worth it,” Gabe says. He bends down to pick up the broken device. “And you mean _you_ should clean up this mess. I didn’t come all over the equipment.”

“Yeah, you just came all over the Commander,” Jack says, rummaging through the cabinet.

“Yep. I’m responsible with my ejaculations. You should learn from me.”

Jack finds a container of sanitizing wipes and cleans the countertop, then the two exit the TAAV, headed for their separate offices. Jack changes his mind and goes up to his room to get a clean uniform top. He knows he can’t be seen walking around in his undershirt in the middle of the day. It would literally make international headlines.

He’s been covered in so many newspapers, magazines, tabloids, websites, and bafflingly to Jack, fan blogs, that he’s become immune to almost any reporting about himself, but it’s best not to feed them anything. The exception to his journalistic numbness is anything touching his relationship with his second in command. These types of stories, while fairly rare and always wildly inaccurate, are guaranteed to raise the Commander’s ire.

The reason is the tone. None of these writers can seem to believe that Gabe isn’t angry about being passed over for the position as head of Overwatch. Many have gone so far as to suggest that there is tension between them because of it, and to paint Gabe as some kind brooding, ominous figure lurking behind the throne plotting the king’s downfall.

The suggestion that the man he has loved so deeply and for so long could be capable of bearing a petty grudge like that against anyone, let alone him, makes Jack furious. This is exacerbated by the fact that he can’t respond to it. If he addresses it even once, it will be all he is questioned about from that point on. When he gets to his room, he tosses the dirty shirt in the hamper and puts on a fresh one.

He looks at himself in the mirror and sighs. No one would guess that this face belongs to a man of more than sixty years old. He may not look his age, but he certainly feels it. Not in his perennially youthful, muscular body, but in his mind and his soul. He’s getting tired of this life. Tired of the constant demands on his attention, tired of people relying on him to lead them into some sort of future that everyone seems to want, but no one can agree on. Tired of lying. Maybe it would’ve been better to let the world burn. Then at least he’d be allowed to rest.

He tried once. To give up the struggle and go to his rest. Angela had brought him back. How does a man survive a gunshot to the head? He usually doesn’t. But he usually doesn’t have Jack’s doctor. He thinks bitterly about day. When the blessed blackness of that final sleep vomited him back out into a world of confusion and misery. Like being reborn, but fully conscious and against his will.

He should have known better. He should have known that he wouldn’t be allowed to reach them that way. That this world wasn’t done making him suffer. Making him pay for existing. Every moment of happiness bought with a year of torment.

But he has been happy, sometimes. Gabe makes him happy. Sometimes.


	79. Goodnight

Hanzo’s promised visit to Jesse’s room later that evening does not turn out to be as simple a proposition as it sounds. Genji, elated to have his friend at close hand, seems intent upon monopolizing as much of his attention as possible. He is unaware, of course, of Jesse’s anxiety to be alone with his older brother, and his sunny enthusiasm makes it impossible for Jesse to be annoyed.

So, Jesse good-naturedly submits to hours of being made to play video games, recount stories of his vagabond days, and hear Genji’s ideas for films, most of which appear to involve a cowboy-ninja duo who travel about the world solving mysteries, driving expensive cars, and being fawned over by beautiful ladies.

Jesse has noticed that Genji appears to drink quite often and heavily, particularly for a seventeen-year-old boy in a country wherein the legal age for alcohol consumption is twenty. Jesse doesn’t give a damn for legal drinking ages—he has been an enthusiastic consumer of whiskey for many years—but he is concerned that his friend’s use of alcohol tends more toward the addictive than casual. By the time Jesse has finished his second beer, Genji is already thoroughly drunk. A little after midnight, he is lying on the floor before the fireplace in the boys’ hall, listening to Jesse strum at his guitar, and apparently growing drowsy at last.

“Jesse. Jesse. Jesseeeeeeeeeee. Your name is so weird.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s pretty weird,” Jesse laughs.

“It is two sounds. And it almost rhymes with mine!”

“Almost.”

“Jesse, I hope we will be friends forever.”

“I hope so too, Genj.”

Genji sways his head as Jesse plays some low, lazy chord progressions. After a little while, he appears to have fallen asleep.

“Hey, Genj,” Jesse says. “Don’t sleep on the floor, now.”

Genji does not respond, so Jesse sets his guitar down and gently shakes him awake.

“C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“But I am not sleepy,” Genji says groggily, pulling himself up to a sitting position. “Play me one more song.”

“Naw, I ain’t playin’ anymore tonight. I’m ready for bed and so are you.”

“Ok, Jesse,” Genji says, allowing himself to be led to his room. “But you will play some more tomorrow, yes?”

“Course I will. Goodnight, Genj.”

“Goodnight Jesse!” Genji calls after him, flopping down onto his bed.

Jesse shuts Genji’s door and goes to put his guitar back into its case. He looks toward Hanzo’s hallway, debating whether he should just go knock on the door, or if that would be presumptuous. Fortunately, the decision isn’t left to him. Hanzo appears in the archway at that moment and beckons to him, then turns and vanishes down the hall.

Jesse closes the fasteners on his guitar case, then he straightens shirt, rakes his fingers through his hair, and follows, attempting not to appear too eager. He steps through the open door and slides it shut behind him. The room is lit only by the warm, yellow flame of a little oil-burning lamp on a stand near the bed, which is a large, soft sleeping mat like the one in his guest room.

He’s surprised to find that Hanzo’s room (from what he can discern in the dim light) is not very different from the bedroom of an ordinary young man. He can see built-in bookshelves along the far wall, a desk with a computer, and a little mahogany table with what appears to be some kind of ceremonial altar and incense burner on it. He’d imagined someone like Hanzo to live in something like a temple, austere and splendid and with cold marble floors, rather than the springy tatami mats under his feet.

Another door slides open and Hanzo emerges. Jesse stares at him, awestruck by his loveliness. His pale skin glows beautifully in the light of the oil lamp. He is wearing a plain, black yukata and his hair is loose of its tie, flowing freely about his shoulders like a waterfall of black glass.

“Uh…hi there, Hanzo,” Jesse says. He stuffs his hands in pockets to stop them shaking. “How’s it goin’?”

“I am well, Jesse. How are you?”

“Little worn out, on account of Genji makin’ me tell him about a thousand stories. You uh…oh—”

Jesse’s mouth is stopped by Hanzo’s, as he throws his arms around his neck and pulls him into a kiss. Despite the searing pain in his ribcage, Jesse lifts him off the ground and carries him to his bed. They lie down facing each other on the soft, supple linens. Jesse strokes Hanzo’s hair and gazes adoringly into his face, till Hanzo laughs self-consciously and lowers his eyes.

“Why are you looking at me that way?”

“Cause you got the most beautiful face I ever seen,” Jesse says. “I’m gettin’ a real good picture in my head, so’s I never forget it.”

Hanzo sits up and lays a hand on Jesse’s chest. “Jesse, I must tell you something.”

Jesse takes it and kisses it. “What is it, darlin’?”

“I have not been with a man before. I…I have not been with…anyone.”

Jesse blinks. “Oh.”

He had certainly not been expecting this revelation. It hadn’t occurred to him that a boy of nineteen, especially one so absurdly attractive, could have managed to remain a virgin somehow. He had always assumed everyone started having sex at pretty much the same age, which in his case, had been fourteen. He looks into those impossible eyes and his heart sinks. There is no way this angelic creature will want to soil himself with the touch of a man who has had so many sexual partners that he hasn’t bothered to keep count.

The thought that he might not share his history with Hanzo never enters Jesse’s mind. His mode of life has involved a good deal of deception, but moral dishonesty is so contrary to his natural character as to be abhorrent to him. His heart aches for what he’s about to do. The sweetness and bliss he’s about to deny himself. Well, best get it over with. He sits up and pushes his hair out of his face, so he can look Hanzo in the eye.

“Hanzo, I gotta be straight with you,” he says. “I gotta tell you somethin’ too, ‘fore you decide whether you want your…your first time to be with someone like me.”

Hanzo’s brow knits with apprehension. “What do you mean?”

Jesse takes a deep breath. “Well…I been with a lot of people. Boys and girls. Don’t ask how many, ‘cause I don’t know. I started when I was fourteen and I ain’t never looked back. Mostly they been one-time deals or professionals, but I had a friend who was with the gang for a while and we used to do it regular. It wadn’t a relationship or nothin’ like that. We was just buddies and fuckin’ was just somethin’ we did for fun. I never…I never had, like, romantic feelings about anyone I fucked. I ain’t proud of it, and it ain’t like I didn’t want someone to love and care about, but I ain’t had the kinda life where that was possible.”

He watches Hanzo’s face as he speaks, hoping to discern any kind of reaction, but his expression is stoic and unreadable. Jesse hangs his head, letting his hair fall back over his eyes.

“Anyway, I just wanted you to know what kinda man you was talkin’ to,” he says miserably. “I’m pretty much trash and I know it. I guess I better go now.”

He moves to stand up, but Hanzo stops him, laying his hands firmly on his shoulders.

“You are not trash, Jesse,” he says. “I understand why you felt that you should tell me this. But it does not matter to me whether you have been with one person or one hundred.”

“It…it don’t?”

“Of course not. We have had very different lives. It would be foolish of me to grudge you your past. And unkind. It seems to me that your life has been very hard and very lonely, and I do not blame you for taking comfort where you found it. My life has been lonely as well.”

“You been lonely too?”

“Very lonely. Though my circumstances were not nearly so hard. I am isolated both by my family’s position and my position in it. But I do not say this so that you will pity me. Only to express that I feel…empathy with you.” He pauses and searches for words. “Jesse, I do not experience sexual attraction often. Almost never, in fact. But I am very attracted to you. I want to…be with you that way. This is new to me and I am afraid.”

“Lie down with me, darlin’,” Jesse says. “Let me just hold you a little while.”

Hanzo lies down with his head on Jesse’s broad chest. Jesse wraps him up tightly in his arms and buries his face in that silky black hair, breathing in the boy’s warm, intoxicating scent.

“Sweetheart, I don’t want you to do nothin’ you ain’t ready to do,” he says softly. “I don’t need you to do nothin’ at all, so long as I can just be close to you like this. And maybe kiss you some more, if you’ll let me.”

Hanzo laughs. “You may kiss me, Jesse.”

He pushes himself up and straddles Jesse’s hips, leaning down to kiss him. His black hair falls about Jesse’s face and surrounds him with its dark, velvety softness. His lips touch Jesse’s, gently pushing them apart and pausing on the threshold. Jesse can feel Hanzo’s warm breath on his face. He can almost taste him on the tip of his tongue. His body aches with the keen longing of the lingering moment before Hanzo’s tongue slides forward to caress his.

This kiss is the most profoundly intimate thing Jesse has ever experienced. He becomes aware of a sensation like falling. The sudden, heart-pounding exhilaration a man experiences when he loses his grip on the earth and gravity has its way. There is no going back now. He consciously lets go and allows the fall to take him. He pulls Hanzo down on top of him, desperate to feel him with every molecule of his body. Hanzo presses himself against Jesse’s achingly hard cock, making him buck and shiver.

He laughs softly into their kiss and draws away. “Jesse, may I undress you?”

“Fuck yeah, you can,” Jesse says. “You don’t gotta ask my permission.”

Hanzo pulls him up and rests his forehead against Jesse’s as he unsnaps his shirt, then tugs it off and tosses it away. He runs his hands slowly over Jesse’s muscular chest, along his shoulders and up his neck into his hair, twining it about his fingers as they kiss. Then he pushes Jesse down onto his back. His hands tremble nervously and he fumbles with the buttons of Jesse’s fly, so Jesse helps him peel his jeans off. He climbs back onto Jesse’s lap, stroking the dark, curly line of hair on his abdomen with his fingertips.

“You have such strange clothing,” he says, looking curiously at Jesse’s bright red boxer-briefs

“You think my clothes is strange, do ya?” Jesse laughs. “You don’t even wear pants.”

“I wear pants,” Hanzo says. “I do not wear them often in the castle, unless I am training, though. They are not a traditional part of the clothing worn at home.”

“What about them black briefs I seen you wearin’? Those traditional?”

“They are comfortable. The traditional undergarment for males is…highly impractical.”

Jesse grins. “What kind you got on now?”

“You tell me.”

Jesse’s hands travel slowly up Hanzo’s thighs beneath his black yukata. He stops and looks wide-eyed at the boy sitting astride his lap.

“Oh, Christ,” he breathes. “Fuck, darlin’, you’re like to kill me that way. You…you got nothin’ on under there.”

Hanzo lowers his eyes and slowly unties the sash of his yukata. Jesse gazes breathlessly at his smooth, flawless body as he slips it off his shoulders. Hanzo raises his black eyelashes and looks shyly up at Jesse. This is too much for Jesse to withstand. In one swift, smooth motion, he takes Hanzo in his arms and rolls him onto his back on the bed, kissing him with urgent intensity. Hanzo gasps and clings to Jesse as he pushes down with his hips, grinding their hard cocks together through his underwear.

Hanzo reaches down and tugs impatiently at the waistband. “Jesse, take these off.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am sure.”

Jesse stands awkwardly up on the bed to pull off his underwear. He loses his balance and just manages not to tumble over, then he tosses them away with a theatrical flourish and gives a little bow.

“Lie down before you fall and make your injuries worse,” Hanzo laughs.

“You don’t want me to do a sexy dance for ya?” Jesse says, raising an eyebrow. “I could.”

Hanzo wrinkles his nose. “Please do not.”

“I dunno…I kinda feel the spirit overtakin’ me. I might have to.”

“If you do a sexy dance I will have you thrown out of my room without your clothing.”

“I bet that’d be interesting for the servants,” Jesse grins.

“Come here before I change my mind,” Hanzo says, reaching out his arms.

Jesse falls into them and peppers his face with kisses. “Change your mind about what?”

“I am very nervous, Jesse. Please do not make fun of me.”

“Aw darlin’, I wadn’t makin’ fun of you. But sex is supposed to be fun. We gotta be able to relax and laugh at ourselves a little.”

“I will attempt to relax,” Hanzo says. “But you are…a bit…”

“I’m a bit…what?”

Hanzo’s cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Your penis is very large, Jesse.”

Jesse blinks, then bursts out into a fit of merry laughter.

“Why is that funny!” Hanzo demands, almost pouting.

“Sorry sweetheart,” Jesse says, still laughing. “I just never heard no one talk like that. Like usin’ the word doctors use for your parts and whatnot.”

“What word do you use?”

“I dunno. Cock?”

Hanzo considers this for a moment, then says gravely, “Your cock is very large, Jesse.”

This sets Jesse laughing again, which flusters Hanzo even further, until Jesse gets his mirth under control and soothes him with another soft kiss. Then he pulls away and gazes down into that beautiful face.

“I promise I ain’t gonna hurt you, darlin’,” he says gently. “I can’t help what kinda equipment I’m workin’ with, but I do know how to use it. It ok if I help you relax a little first?”

Hanzo bites his lip and nods apprehensively.

“You just tell me,” Jesse says, kissing his shoulder and neck, “if anything don’t feel good or if you uncomfortable at all, ok?”

Hanzo nods again. “Ok, Jesse.”

Jesse strokes Hanzo’s smooth skin with his fingertips, kissing a slow line down his chest and stomach. Hanzo gasps and gives a little cry as Jesse’s hot, wet mouth caresses the head of his cock. He strokes it slowly, licking and sucking him, and tasting the thick, salty pre-ejaculate on the head. He pushes his legs apart. Hanzo’s eye’s roll back and flutter shut as Jesse’s tongue finds the rim of his asshole, drawing slow, tantalizing circles around it and flicking the opening. His body shakes with desire. He covers his mouth to stifle another cry as Jesse slowly pushes a big, spit-slicked finger inside.

“You ok, darlin’?” Jesse asks. “That too much?”

“No, it is—it is not too much,” Hanzo pants. “I am alright.”

Jesse hooks his finger slightly, working it carefully in and out till Hanzo moans and begins to rock his hips. Then he pushes two fingers inside, gradually stretching and loosening the entrance. He spits liberally into his hand and slides it over his cock from head to base, lubricating it as best he can.

“You sure you ready, sweetheart?” he says. “It’s ok to say stop if you ain’t.”

“I am ready, Jesse,” Hanzo says. “I want…I want to feel you inside me.”

Jesse spreads Hanzo’s legs wider and presses the head of his cock against the hot, tight opening. Gazing intently into Hanzo’s eyes, he begins to slowly, firmly penetrate him. His head spins with the delicious heat and pressure of the boy’s insides on his cock. He strangles the urge to plunge himself in all at once, and patiently works his thick shaft into the taut resistance.

Hanzo squeezes his eyes shut and groans through his teeth. “Wait! Jesse, wait. It hurts.”

Jesse freezes. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” Hanzo pants. “No, do not stop. Just wait a moment. I will be alright in a moment.”

Jesse holds perfectly still until Hanzo nods. Then he begins to thrust in slow, even strokes, feeling Hanzo’s insides slackening and giving way as he pushes deeper. Hanzo gives a low, shuddering moan as the head of Jesse’s cock strikes his prostate, sending intense, aching waves of pleasure up through his gut into his entire body.

Jesse’s grips Hanzo’s cock and strokes it in time with his thrusts. It’s rigid and hot and leaking pre-ejaculate all over Jesse’s hand. He lifts Hanzo’s leg over his shoulder and thrusts harder and faster, pounding his cock against the end of the boy’s rectum. Hanzo grips the bed linens with both hands and gives a sharp cry.

“Jesse…Jesse! I am so close, please…ah!”

“Come, darlin’,” Jesse says. “Come for me—oh fuck!”

Hanzo’s cock convulses in his hand, spurting hot fluid onto Jesse’s stomach as his insides contract on Jesse’s cock, wrenching the intense, visceral ejaculation out of him. Jesse withdraws, wobbles, then collapses onto Hanzo’s naked, glistening body and lies there panting and dizzy with euphoria.

“Baby, holy fuck,” he sighs, pushing his face into the crook of Hanzo’s neck. “Babydoll, sugar, darlin’…fuck!”

Hanzo laughs softly and runs his fingers through Jesse’s shaggy, dark-brown hair. “Fuck, I think, is the correct sentiment, yes.”

“Ooh, listen to you!” Jesse says, playfully rocking Hanzo back and forth. “I never heard you say a cuss before. You think now you been fucked you allowed to say it?”

“I am allowed to say anything I want,” Hanzo snorts. “You are not in charge of me.”

“We’ll see about that,” Jesse says. He rolls onto his back and pulls Hanzo into his arms. “I own you, now.”

“You do not own me, cowboy,” Hanzo protests, making a mock struggle against the embrace. “I am still the master here.”

“See, now you gettin’ sassy,” Jesse says, squeezing the boy tighter. “I might have to spank ya.”

“Spank me! You would not dare!”

“I bet I would. But only if you asked real nice.”

Hanzo pushes himself up on one elbow and gazes down into Jesse’s handsome face, stroking the patch of dark hair on his chest.

“Jesse, you are not like anyone I have ever known.”

“That a good thing?”

“Yes. It is a very good thing.”

 

 

Claudia sits in the copilot’s seat of the TAAV, devoting her energy to two things: not looking nervous, and not staring at her Commanding Officer. It’s not that she has a crush on him or anything. He’s far too old for her (he doesn’t look that old, but he has to be), not to mention he’s openly gay, but he’s simply too interesting to resist sneaking a look at.

He has hung his dark-grey hooded jacket over the back of his seat and is wearing a tight, black t-shirt. It looks as if it’s been custom-tailored to fit his broad chest and trim waist with equal precision (which, in fact, it has). She can see the scars from deep lacerations in his left forearm and bicep. They appear to be the same age as his facial scars. Combat in the old days must have been absolutely brutal.

“Train wreck,” he says.

He is making some small adjustments to the panel in front of him. The TAAV responds, smoothly banking a few degrees southeast and then stabilizing.

“I—uh…sir?” she says, flustered. Apparently she hadn’t been as sneaky as she thought.

“My scars,” he says, glancing over at her. “I got them in a train wreck when I was a kid.”

“Oh, I’m—I’m sorry, sir.”

“It’s ok. The old trains didn’t have anything like the safety measures the hypertrains have now. Just seatbelts. I was severely injured, but I survived. Most of the passengers didn’t. The scars on my face are from the same incident.”

“I see,” she says, astonished to find him suddenly so conversational. “That must have been a really long time ago. The hypertrains took over before the war. Way before I was born.”

“It was. A very long time ago.”

“Sir, I know a lot about the SEP program and their involvement in the Crisis, but you said your enhancements are different. You and Commander Morrison…you weren’t just SEP soldiers, were you.”

“No. We weren’t.”

“Oh. Do you…do you mind if I ask—”

“That depends, Agent Oberkampf,” he interrupts, looking keenly at her with his fierce brown eyes. “Is this medical curiosity?”

Claudia looks uncomfortably down at her hands, unable to withstand his gaze. “No sir, I just wanted to…know more about you, I guess. I apologize.”

“Nothing to apologize for. It’s perfectly ok to want to know more about the people you’re working with.” He leans back in his seat and crosses his arms, taking a long breath and releasing it slowly. “Before the war, Jack and I were part of another secret government program to create super-soldiers. They called us ‘high-efficiency assets’ back then. We were CIA agents under the Special Operations Group umbrella. Black-ops, highly deniable, that sort of thing.

We were a team of six at first, but eventually we gathered more recruits. The SEP grew out of that. After the Crisis hit, they asked us to expand the program to include entire units of enhanced soldiers. Our genetic augmentations were far superior to theirs, and we had a lot of experience under our belts, so we were called in to command them. That’s basically the story, leaving out a half shit-ton of classified details, of course.”

“What happened to the other four? The rest of the original team?”

“Three of us survived. Three didn’t.”

“I’m sorry, sir. That must have been really difficult.”

“It was. Jack took it the hardest. When we were a unit, he was our commander. We were like a family. But they split us up to fight in the war and he blames that for their deaths. The six of us together were almost invincible. Alone, we were just…drops in an ocean.”

“But you guys won the war. It’s a tragedy, losing your friends that way, but their sacrifices saved millions of lives. You guys saved me and my family. I was just a kid, but I still remember Commander Morrison’s unit storming into the city and—”

“What city?” Gabe asks abruptly.

“Cleveland,” Claudia says, a bit startled by his tone. But he nods genially, so she goes on. “I’m from there. My mom still lives there because the SEP soldiers saved the city from total destruction. That and Dr. Ziegler’s work are the reasons I joined, sir. You guys are real-life heroes.”

“I don’t know about that,” he says, with a wry smile. “I certainly don’t feel like a hero. I just feel…tired.”

“Well, you’re heroes to me. I’m honored to be working for you, sir.”

“Thanks, Oberkampf. I didn’t mean to brush you off. It’s good to hear we made some kind of a difference, especially from someone who was there and saw it firsthand. At least we got something in return for all we had to give.”

“Sir, if I may, why did you and Commander Morrison agree to form Overwatch? I mean, it’s a great thing and the world needs it badly, but no one could fault you for wanting to be done with all the struggle and conflict after what you’ve been through.”

“Fuck if I know,” he laughs, folding his arms behind his head. “Maybe we’re just gluttons for punishment.”

“Yeah. Maybe,” she says, with a sly smile.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. I mean, yeah. You definitely don’t do this because you care or anything.”

“Well I don’t.”

“No, I totally believe you. I totally do.”

“You said ‘totally’ twice,” Gabe says, narrowing his eyes.

“Did I?” Claudia laughs. “No…I think you must have misheard me.”

Gabe sighs and shakes his head. “Fucking insubordinate kids these days.”

There is something so familiar and paternal in his posture and tone, that Claudia almost wants to hug him. She doesn’t, of course. He is her Commander and she is not insane. But she is developing a suspicion that he’d probably give really good dad hugs. The idea instantly brings Jesse to her mind. When she’d seen them together in Paris, her knee-jerk reaction had been that she was looking at a father and son. What she had sensed was probably just the closeness that comes from working with each other for a long time. Plus Jesse’s youth. And his strong resemblance to the Commander. Hm.

“Speaking of insubordinate kids,” she says. “I’m glad Agent McCree is doing so well on his first solo. This is kind of a big case, right?”

“Yeah, it turned into one,” Gabe says. “It was on my back burner for a long time because of other concerns, but he worked his ass off, so I figured he deserved to be allowed to pursue it. I just hope he doesn’t fuck it up before we get there.”

“We’ll be there in like, five hours. How much of it could he fuck up by then?”

“I hope not too much. The Shimada—nevermind. You should get some shut-eye while you can, though. Japan is seven hours ahead of Switzerland and the jet lag can be a real bitch.”

Claudia is disappointed to end their conversation, but she is exhausted, and that bunk in the back of the TAAV is starting to look pretty inviting.

“Thank you, sir. I think I will try to rest. But what about you?”

“I’m used to this kind of schedule. I’ll be fine. I’ll wake you up when we’re about a half hour out.”

Claudia unfastens her seat harness and goes to one of the bunks built into the bulkhead. She situates herself as comfortably as she can on the hard cushion that serves as a mattress, and then types a quick text to her mother.

Claudia: Hey mom! On my way to Japan. I’ll send you some pictures when we get there. Wish me luck! Love you!

Then she stuffs her phone back into her pocket and lies her head down on the small pillow. She finds she’s so excited to be on her first mission as a Blackwatch agent, that it’s hard to get her mind quieted down at first. But the soothing hum of the antigrav engines eventually does its work, and she drifts off to sleep imagining what a place called Shimada Castle will be like in person.

 


	80. The Liar

Gabe guides the TAAV to the grounds of a disused nuclear power plant about thirty kilometers outside Hanamura, chosen by Blackwatch intel for its relative isolation and ample landing space. Despite the hazards of doing so, Gabe had engaged the vehicle’s stealth capability before entering Japanese airspace, and he lands it stealthed, as well. Concealment will be a primary concern until this thing is worked out.

He and Claudia collect their equipment and stack it outside the TAAV to await their escort to Shimada Castle. Claudia sits on an ammo crate and Gabe lights a cigarette and leans against the invisible aircraft, which makes Claudia laugh and say he looks like he’s doing a mime act. Within five minutes, a pair of black SUVs roll up, bearing Jesse and a detachment of Shimada bodyguards. Claudia smiles to see the dashing young man, all jeans and plaid and cowboy hat, among his solemn, black-suited companions.

“Hey, boss,” Jesse says, sauntering up with his usual easy insouciance. He tips his hat, “Howdy, Claudia. How was the flight?”

“Fine,” Gabe says, grinding out his cigarette beneath his black boot.

“Hi, Jesse!” Claudia smiles brightly. “It was ok. I slept most of the way, though.”

“Well, you lucky the boss didn’t treat you to some of his trick flyin’,” Jesse says, returning the smile. “It’s a thrill, but it cost me an arm.”

“We were shot down by a homing missile. My flying saved your life,” Gabe says gruffly, walking away to address the bodyguards.

“What’s the boss got in his bonnet?” Jesse asks Claudia in an undertone. “He been like that the whole way?”

“I have no idea,” she whispers back. “He’s been really friendly, actually.”

“Hm. Well, he gets that way sometimes,” Jesse says. “Ain’t no reckonin’ on the boss’s mood.”

Jesse walks with Claudia to one of the waiting vehicles, where they sit and chat excitedly about Japan and the castle while the bodyguards load the equipment into the other. When this has been accomplished, Gabe climbs into the seat beside Jesse and they get underway. Jesse casts a sidelong glance at the Commander, who appears to be deeply involved in typing something on his phone.

“What is it, Jesse?”

“I was just gonna ask if there’s anything we should talk about ‘fore we get to the castle.”

“Like what?” Gabe asks, regarding Jesse with a sharp eye.

Jesse frowns. “Nothin’, I guess. Sorry, boss.”

Gabe is immediately remorseful for being so brusque with the boy. He knows why he’s behaving this way and he hates himself for it, but he can’t explain it to Jesse now, and he can’t very well apologize here in a car packed with Shimada retainers and Agent Oberkampf. So, he withdraws into himself and focuses his mind on the mission. Thus rebuffed, Jesse turns his attention back to Claudia, talking with her about Japanese cuisine and customs he’s observed for the remainder of the drive to Shimada Castle.

 

Hanzo sits before an oval mirror, watching as an attendant smooths his glossy hair with a boar-bristle brush. The woman takes a long piece of gold silk and begins to carefully tie back the young master’s hair. At this moment, Genji throws open the door and enters Hanzo’s room without knocking. The interchange between the two brothers takes place in their own language, of course, but proceeds roughly as follows.

“Brother, what are you doing!” Genji demands, in a heated tone.

Hanzo speaks a quiet word to the servant, who scurries away, shutting the door behind her. He continues to meticulously tie the silk into a knot, leaving its long ends trailing down the back of his pristine, black, formal kimono.

“I am dressing,” he says. “Should you not be at your studies?”

“I can see that you are dressing. What are you doing with Jesse!” Genji says, growing increasingly agitated.

“I do not know what you mean.”

“You know exactly what I mean. He spent the night with you last night and the night before.”

“He did,” Hanzo replies tranquilly. “I have not attempted to conceal it.”

“How could you do this to me again? Why can you not allow me to have one friend of my own who you do not steal away!”

“A friend of your own?” Hanzo says, raising an eyebrow. “Jesse is not your friend, Genji. He is a spy.”

Genji steps back blinking, as if he has been struck. “Jesse is…he is…”

“An agent sent here by his masters to gain our trust and to open a channel of communication with us,” Hanzo says coolly. “Nothing more.”

“No. You are lying. Jesse is my friend.”

“Do you know where your friend is now?” Hanzo stands and straightens the waist of his grey hakama pants. “He has gone with our men to meet his Commander and escort him to the castle. They will arrive shortly to begin negotiations.”

Genji clenches his fists at his sides, white and trembling with anger.

“Is that why you are fucking him?” he snarls through his clenched teeth. “To assist negotiations?”

“Take care, brother. Remember to whom you speak.”

“I know to whom I am speaking,” Genji spits. “A whore.”

The next moment, Genji is lying on his back, stunned by a blindingly swift blow. He struggles up to a sitting position, clutching his face to stop the blood gushing from his nose.

“You will conduct yourself in a manner befitting a son of the Master of the Shimada Clan,” Hanzo says disdainfully, stepping over Genji’s legs on his way to the door. “Or I will have you confined to your chamber and placed under guard.”

Hanzo goes out into the main room of the boys’ hall and calls to his servant. She hurries over, and he holds out his arms as she slides on his black haori jacket over his kimono. Then he walks serenely along the garden path toward the main hall of Shimada Castle. Attendants swing the heavy doors open, bowing low as he enters. Inside the grand building, attendants, guards, and black-clad servants stop and bow, waiting till he passes to raise their heads again. He follows a long hallway to a stair, where the Shimada family physician waits.

He bows in greeting. “Young master.”

Hanzo returns his bow. “How is my father, doctor?”

“The Master is…as well as can be expected. He refuses pain relief, saying that he wishes to have his wits about him when he speaks with his guest.”

“Commander Reyes will arrive shortly,” Hanzo says. “Is he in a fit state, do you think, to see him?”

“He is in a great deal of pain, which places distress on his body, but his mind is clear.”

“I will ask that the Commander keep their interview as brief as possible today. I would not prolong his suffering unduly. You should come see to him immediately afterward.” Hanzo bites his lip, as if weighing the matter, then he shakes his head. “No, I have changed my mind. The Commander is traveling with a physician of his own. Perhaps you had better be at hand to speak with her. It would be preferable that you explain my father’s condition to her yourself. I will not know how to answer medical questions she may have.”

“Of course, young master,” the doctor replies, bowing again.

“Thank you, doctor.”

The doctor departs, but Hanzo remains a moment. He hesitates at the foot of the stair, begins to climb the bottom step, then turns and walks swiftly back down the hall.

 

The vehicles bearing the Blackwatch team pull in through the main gate of Shimada Castle and stop in the drive before the main hall. Hanzo is waiting on the steps, flanked by armed guards and numerous household attendants. Gabe climbs out, followed by Jesse and Claudia, who walk a respectful distance behind him as they approach the young master. Hanzo and his retinue bow, and Hanzo comes forward.

Gabe returns his bow. “Shimada san. Thank you for inviting us into your home.”

“You are most welcome, Commander Reyes,” Hanzo says. “I trust your journey was not too difficult.”

“Not at all,” Gabe says. He turns and indicates to Claudia. “This is Dr. Claudia Oberkampf. She is the physician we spoke about.”

“Doctor,” Hanzo says, dipping his head. He turns back to Gabe. “If you will forgive me, it is necessary to begin our business as soon as possible. Otherwise I would invite you to rest and take refreshment first.”

“I understand completely,” Gabe says. “I’m ready to begin whenever you see fit.”

“Very well,” Hanzo replies. “If you will follow me, Commander, we will go in now. My family’s physician would like to speak with Dr. Oberkampf, if she will be so kind.”

“Of course.”

Hanzo says a word to a servant, who steps forward and bows to Claudia.

“This man will take you to see Dr. Inoue,” Hanzo says. “Thank you for coming, Dr. Oberkampf.”

Claudia bows, glances nervously at Jesse, and then follows the servant up the steps and in through the heavy, imposing doors.

“Jesse,” Hanzo says. “If you will excuse us, your Commander and I must attend to this matter in private. You are already familiar with the castle, so you are welcome to wait wherever you please.”

“Thanks, Hanzo” Jesse says. “Boss, I’ll be around. Gimme a shout when you want me.”

Gabe nods to Jesse, then he and the young master go together into the main hall. Jesse stands alone on the steps, feeling rather like a child who has been dismissed to his play while the grown-ups go to talk about important things. He hadn’t expected to be left out of everything that is going on. This, in combination with the Commander’s curt manner with him today, irritates him immensely.

He stalks off to his room and finds his cigarettes, then heads for the boys’ hall to see what Genji is up to. He may as well talk to his friend while everyone is so busy conducting his own mission without him. He knocks on Genji’s door twice before he hears a response from within, telling him to enter. Genji is splayed out on his bed, surrounded by empty beer cans, and drinking from a full one. Jesse sees immediately that the boy has been crying.

“Oh no, Genj,” he says, coming to the bed and sitting beside his friend. “You ok? What’s wrong?”

“Hello Jesse,” Genji sniffles. “I will be alright. Hanzo said some cruel things to me earlier. I should not allow him to upset me so much. It is unmanly to cry over such things.”

“It’s ok to be upset sometimes,” Jesse says soothingly. “I cry about things, too.”

“You cry, Jesse?” Genji says, apparently amazed by this revelation.

“Sure I do,” Jesse smiles. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with it. My mama always said cryin’s good for the soul. Sucks all the poison outta the wound so’s you can get to feelin’ better.”

“I wish I had a mother like yours, Jesse. She would not allow Hanzo to be so terrible.”

Jesse almost laughs at the idea that the soft, sweet boy to whom he has been making strenuous love for the past two nights could be called terrible, but he restrains his merriment. Genji is clearly upset and needs to be comforted.

“What did Hanzo do that was so terrible, Genj?” he says gently. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”

“You do not know him, Jesse,” Genji says gravely. “Not as I know him. He means to be cruel. And he is two-faced and he manipulates people as if they are puppets on strings.”

“That does sound terrible,” Jesse says. “But you gotta tell me what he done, or I won’t understand what you mean.”

“I have had only two close friends before you, Jesse,” Genji says. “One was the son of a wealthy shipping magnate with whom our family conducts business. The other was the son of the master of a clan with whom we have a close alliance. Hanzo took both of them and turned them against me.”

“Turned ‘em against you? How?”

“It was the same with both. With Tatsuo, the businessman’s son, Hanzo would come and spend time with us when he visited. Tatsuo began to pay more and more attention to him and eventually, he would often come only to see Hanzo. When I objected, Tatsuo said I was a child, and would not understand such things. I became angry, and he refused to speak to me any longer. It was the same with Keiichi. Only by that time, I was old enough to understand that Hanzo had taken him as a lover, and Tatsuo before him.”

“As a lover,” Jesse says slowly. “Does…that mean the same thing here as it does everywhere?”

“It means that they were fucking, yes,” Genji says bitterly, draining his can of beer. He hangs his head as heavy tears begin to roll down his face. “They were my friends. They mattered very dearly to me, but then they fell for him. And he never cared for either of them. He told me openly that my father had suggested to him that he befriend them for the sake of our arrangements with their families. When he no longer had use for them, he simply discarded them. And now I am afraid he will do the same with…with you.”

Jesse sits in stunned silence. His entire being protests against the idea that his divine paramour could be such a silver-tongued viper. But an icy needle of doubt has already begun to work its way up his spine. If Hanzo had indeed lied so easily and so convincingly about never having had a lover before, he could very well have deceived Jesse regarding any number of things.

But it simply can’t be. Jesse cannot have been so utterly wrong about the boy for whom he has fallen so hard. Genji must be the one who is lying. His mind rejects this idea with thorough conviction. Genji is certainly not lying. He sifts rapidly through all of his interactions with his black-eyed angel, but his mind won’t sum anything up to a definite conclusion. He sees a hundred little things that could mean everything or nothing.

The lie about never having had a previous lover, however, is damning enough on its own. Unless Hanzo had said it because he wanted to appear more sexually innocent than he was. But why? What could be gained by that? Then another thought strikes him. What could Genji think Hanzo hoped to gain from manipulating Jesse? Unless he already knew that Jesse was a spy. This thought cuts him almost as deeply as that of Hanzo’s duplicity. What if Genji thinks he has only been using him, and hasn’t really become so attached to him as he has.

“But, Genj…what could Hanzo want with playin’ me like that? I ain’t got a pa who’s in business with y’all’s family.”

“That was the cruelest part. He told me today that you are not my friend. He said that you are an agent sent here by some organization to gain our trust and nothing more. He was very cold and he told me with the intention of hurting me.”

“Genji, listen to me,” Jesse says earnestly. “I ain’t proud I lied to you. But I had orders and my Commander was real particular about me not blowin’ my cover. That don’t mean I ain’t really your friend. Everything I told you about me is true, leavin’ out the reason I come here and what my job is. I like you so much, Genj. I really, truly do. It’d plain wreck me if I thought we wadn’t gonna be friends no more.”

“Do you mean it, Jesse?” Genji says, looking up into Jesse’s eyes. “Do you swear you mean it?”

“I swear I do,” Jesse says, throwing his arms around his young friend. “I’ll stick to you through hell and high water if you’ll let me. You’re the only friend I ever had that wadn’t just part of the gang or someone I work with. You’re…you’re my best friend, Genj.”

Genji returns the embrace, still in tears. “I believe you, Jesse. You are my best friend, too.”

“And I’m sorry I been fuckin’ your brother and ain’t told you. I just reckoned that was probably somethin’ you’d rather not hear about, y’know?”

“I understand, Jesse,” Genji sniffles, sitting back to look at him again. “But you must be wary of Hanzo. Do not allow yourself to be hurt by him. I cannot bear the idea that he should be free to use you that way.”

“I think it might be a little late for that,” Jesse says, smiling sadly. “He got me pretty much fucked up a tree about him already.”

“But you are…you are not in love with him…are you?”

“I…I don’t know.” Jesse gives a weary sigh and flops back onto Genji’s bed, covering his face with both hands.

He has, in very truth, allowed himself to fall in love with Hanzo. Thoroughly, recklessly, madly in love. The kind they write poems and songs about. Though ‘most all them poems and songs are about gettin’ your heart broke.

“Oh, Jesse, I am so sorry,” Genji says. “This is very bad news.”

“Fuck,” Jesse says. He pushes his hair back, resting his hands on his forehead. “The only thing is…I still can’t reckon what he’d want with pretendin’ to like me and all that. I mean, I already got him in contact with the boss ‘fore anything even happened.”

“Nothing happened between you prior to his communication with your boss?”

“Not a thing. Them fellas come and jumped me and then he brought me here, but he acted all high and mighty with me till after we called the boss. ‘Fore then, he pretty much talked to me like I was a dog.”

“That is strange.” Genji frowns. “Perhaps he has some deeper game. Hanzo’s mind is full of plots and intrigues. He has been too long under the tutelage of our clan’s diplomatists.”

“I wish the boss and him ain’t left me outta whatever they’re talkin’ about up in the big hall. Maybe I’d get a clue from that.”

Genji nods. “Ah, they must be speaking with my father.”

“Your father?” Jesse says, sitting up abruptly. “He’s here? Y’all told me he was away.”

“I am sorry, Jesse. I must admit that we deceived you regarding his whereabouts, but this matter is different. Recently, my father was stricken with a grave and sudden illness. One from which he is not…he is not expected to recover. In order that the other clans would not attempt to use this apparent weakness to challenge our position, we have guarded the secret of his illness closely, and broadcast the fiction that he has been traveling for business.”

“I guess I get why Hanzo was actin’ so urgent about things, then. I don’t suppose you got any idea about what they might be talkin’ about.”

“No. I did not know your Commander was coming here until today. I did not know of any of this.”

Jesse sighs. “Hey, Genj, you ever get sick of folks treatin’ you like you was a kid and never tellin’ you nothin’? Cause I sure as hell do.”

“Very much so,” Genji says. “My father and Hanzo have been doing that to me for many years.”

Jesse sits staring blankly at the wall, attempting to force down the painful, swelling feeling in his chest and think only in terms of the mission. To harden his heart against the angelic boy with whom he has shared such tender, intimate embraces.

When he awoke this morning, He had found Hanzo still fast asleep, with his silky hair spread out on Jesse’s chest. Not wanting to disturb that precious slumber, Jesse had lain as still and quiet as possible, listening to the gentle sound of Hanzo’s breathing and feeling his soft, warm skin pressed against him. This had been the happiest moment of Jesse’s life. Now it is poisoned with mistrust and lies.

His stomach turns as he thinks of Hanzo’s answer regarding why he’d shed his clothing and joined Jesse in the mineral bath. It had seemed charming to Jesse then, but now…he shudders. And the way Hanzo spoke of himself as practiced in wearing disguises and not knowing which face was his true one anymore. And the way he shifted shape when he spoke to the Commander on the video call. All of these things together begin to form an entirely new picture of the beautiful young heir in Jesse’s mind. One far more in keeping with what Genji has said.

His lover is a liar. A man skilled in using his charms to deceive and influence other men. His body.

Jesse’s lip curls with disgust at the thought. As many partners as he’s had, at least they’ve all been honest fucks, and not just moves in some incomprehensible power game. And now he has been made a pawn such a machination. Jesse hates nothing more than scheming and complex secret motives. Systematic subterfuge and political maneuvering repulse him. The tender ache in his chest begins to solidify and sink into a cold, hard knot of anger in the pit of his stomach.

He gives a start and reaches into his pocket as his phone vibrates.

BWR-002: I’m in your room. Where are you?

BWM-003: just talkin to genji boss be right there

BWR-002: Mueva.

“I gotta go, Genj,” Jesse says. “The boss wants me right now. I’ll see you later, though, ok?”

“Ok, Jesse,” Genji replies solemnly. “I hope you will be alright.”

“Hey, don’t worry about me,” Jesse says, with an attempt at a cheerful smile. “I’m bulletproof.”

He hurries out the door and up the walk to his room, where he finds the Commander reclining on the bed and typing on his phone screen. He looks up and gives Jesse a sardonic smirk.

“So. You’ve been busy.”

“Uh…yeah,” Jesse says, with a nervous chuckle. “Y’know. I’m on a mission and whatnot, so I been…pretty busy.”

“I can see that,” Gabe says, raising an eyebrow. He sets down his phone and folds his hands on his stomach. “Remind me, if you would, which part of your orders listed ‘fuck the Master of the Shimada Clan’s son’ as a mission objective?”

“Ha. Uh…about that, boss,” Jesse says, flushing beet red. “Well, I mean…you saw him, right?”

“I did. But you can’t just go around sticking your dick in every pretty thing you see, Jesse. That’s how you get it cut off.”

“I reckon that’s how you get kicked outta a lot of art museums, too.”

“Pendejo,” Gabe says. “You’re just lucky Sojiro didn’t hear about it. If he finds out, this whole thing could fall apart and we could wind up dead. Well, _you_ could wind up dead. I’ll be damned if I’m taking responsibility for it.”

“I ain’t so sure, boss,” Jesse says, hesitating. “I think…he may know about it.”

“What makes you say that?”

Jesse drops his chin and gazes at his hands, fidgeting with the fingers of his prosthetic. “Genji told me some things about Hanzo. Kinda makes me wonder if he—if he even liked me at all.”

“What things, Jesse,” Gabe says impatiently. “Spit it out.”

Jesse raises his head again and looks at Gabe, his big, amber-brown eyes flashing with sudden ferocity.

“Y’know what, boss? It ain’t none of your business, is what. You been a prick to me all day, and gone and left me outta my own mission, ain’t even bothered to let me know Sojiro was here in the castle this whole time, and now you gonna sit here makin’ me tell you all about how I’m a fool and fixin’ to get my heart broke? Naw. Fuck you, boss. Take your insubordination and shove it up your ass. I’m through talkin’ to you.”

With that, Jesse turns on his heel and storms out of the room, sliding the door shut with a tremendous bang.

Gabe blinks at the door, open mouthed. He’s too astonished to even be angry. This is the first time in all the years they’ve been working together that Jesse has spoken to him like this. Granted, he lets him get away with a healthy amount of lip, but Jesse has never lashed out at him. The boy must be genuinely distressed. He had used the words “get my heart broke.”

Gabe suppresses a smile at Jesse’s colorful vernacular, then he sighs. Poor kid. That Shimada boy _would_ be a heartbreaker, especially to one as young and naïve as Jesse. He wonders what Genji could have told him that upset him so much, but he decides it’s best to let him cool off a little before they talk again. Besides, he needs to report in to Jack about his conversation with the Master, and about said Master’s illness, which Oberkampf had briefly explained to him before he went to look for Jesse.

“These fucking teenagers,” he mutters to himself, taking up his phone again. “Why can’t they just fuck without turning it into an international incident?”

BWR-002: Hey. We’re here. Met with Sojiro.

OCM-001: Already? When did you land?

BWR-002: Couple hours ago.

OCM-001: How did it go?

BWR-002: Well enough. His terms are pretty complicated, but he’d already had his lawyers type up a proposal. I’ll send a copy over in a minute.

OCM-001: Good. I’m glad to hear he’s serious.

BWR-002: Oh, and I was right. Jesse’s been fucking the older son.

OCM-001: Hanzo?

BWR-002: Yep.

OCM-001: Shit.

BWR-002: Yeah, but get this. He says he thinks Sojiro knows about it.

OCM-001: What?

BWR-002: He said Genji, the younger brother, told him something about Hanzo that made him think Sojiro knew already and that Hanzo didn’t even like him, as he put it.

OCM-001: That Hanzo didn’t like Sojiro?

BWR-002: That Hanzo didn’t like Jesse, baby, keep up.

OCM-001: If I wanted to try to keep a bunch of teen drama organized in my head, I’d become a high school teacher. Why is this important to our very actual covert military operation?

BWR-002: Because if Hanzo is lying to Jesse, then there might be more going on here than we think.

OCM-001: Like what?

BWR-002: I don’t know. It’s hard to get a good read on Hanzo. He’s a little bit too perfect.

OCM-001: Here we go again. I’ve got to get a look at this kid sometime just to see why you and Jesse are so in love with him.

BWR-002: You jealous, baby?

OCM-001: A little.

BWR-002: Of me or Jesse?

OCM-001: I will call in a direct missile strike on your person. I can do that.

BWR-002: I dare you.

BWR-002: I mean he’s too perfect like, he has this aura of being totally in control of the situation. He never misspeaks, never hesitates, never shows any kind of emotion. He’s like an ice sculpture or something.

OCM-001: Hm.

OCM-001: What does your gut say?

BWR-002: My gut says whatever the kid is up to probably doesn’t have much to do with what we’re here for. It feels more petty and personal. Maybe he gets off on fucking with other boys’ emotions. I don’t know.

OCM-001: Poor Jesse.

BWR-002: Yeah. He’s pretty upset. He cussed me out and ran out of here a minute ago.

OCM-001: Jesse cussed you out? What did you do to him?

BWR-002: Nothing. I just said he took off.

OCM-001: I meant what did you do to him to make him cuss you out, Gabe.

BWR-002: Why do you assume I did something to make him?

OCM-001: Decades of knowing you. What did you do?

BWR-002: Well. I guess I could have been more understanding about it. I’m no good at that kind of stuff. I just wanted to know how this was going to affect the mission and maybe I was a little…abrupt.

OCM-001: Gabe. Listen to me very carefully. Jesse is your son. He is not your agent. He is not your subordinate. He is your child. Go apologize to him and at least attempt to act like a father before you make him actually hate you.

BWR-002: Baby, I get that things have changed between Jesse and me, but this is still an official operation. I can’t just put everything on hold because he got his feelings hurt by his little boyfriend.

OCM-001: Oh you absolutely can and you absolutely will.

BWR-002: Come on, Jack. This isn’t a joke.

OCM-001: I wasn’t even remotely joking. This is an order, Commander Reyes. Go make things right with your son, or I cancel the mission and yank both your asses back here this minute.

BWR-002: You wouldn’t.

OCM-001: Fucking try me.

BWR-002: Ok, ok. I’ll go find him.

BWR-002: Fuck’s sake, Jack.

BWR-002: You’ve gone mad with power, you know that?

OCM-001: Yeah but you like it.

BWR-002: You have no idea.

OCM-001: Go.

BWR-002: I’m going. I’ll talk to you later.

OCM-001: Wait, send that legal brief first. Then go.

BWR-002: Ok, baby.

OCM-001: Gabe.

BWR-002: What.

OCM-001: I love you.

BWR-002: I love you too, Jack.

Gabe hops up and puts his phone in his pocket on his way out the door. On the deck outside Jesse’s room, he sees Claudia approaching from the direction of the main hall. She waves to him and speeds her pace, so he stops and waits.

“Commander,” she says. “I’m glad I caught you. Can we talk for a minute?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

Claudia steps close to him and lowers her voice. “Sir, there is something not right here. The diagnosis Dr. Inoue gave for Sojiro’s condition…it seems to make sense, but I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something I’m missing or not being told.”

Gabe glances around to make sure no one is in earshot. “You think there’s foul play involved?”

“I’m not suggesting that, sir,” Claudia says. “It’s just that my instincts tell me something is…off. If I could see him and talk to him myself, I could get a better idea of what’s going on, but otherwise, I just can’t say for sure.”

“Did you ask Dr. Inoue about seeing him yourself?”

“Uh…no. I’m not sure how much you know about medical etiquette, but that would’ve been basically the same as questioning his judgment. I thought it would be better not to insult our host’s personal physician.”

“You were right not to press it then,” Gabe says, crossing his arms. “We need to walk on eggshells till this deal is finalized. For now, get a hold of Angela. Tell her everything the doctor told you. If anyone can help you figure it out, she can.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll call her right now.”

“Stay out here when you talk to her. We have to assume your room is bugged until I scan it for you.”

“Yes, sir. Where are you going now?”

“Looking for Jesse. Have you seen him?”

“Yeah, I ran into him by the gate a minute ago. He told me where you were. But he and Genji were on their way out. I don’t think you’ll be able to catch them.”

“God damn it,” Gabe says under his breath. “He didn’t happen to say where he was going, did he?”

“No. Sorry, sir. I would’ve asked, but I was in a hurry to come find you. Is everything ok?”

“Yeah, it’ll be fine. Fuck, I almost forgot to send the legal thing to Jack. You call Angela, then come find me. I’ll be in my room.”

“Yes, sir.”

Gabe pulls out his phone and types a message as he walks briskly toward the main hall.

BWR-002: Jesse, I know you’re upset, but I am your boss and we’re on a mission. I need you to come back here and talk to me.

Inside the main hall, he finds a servant to show him to his room. His personal luggage and equipment are waiting, as is a copy of the document prepared by the Shimada attorneys, as promised. The document is printed on paper and is extremely lengthy. It takes him about twenty minutes to scan each page with his phone and then send the whole thing off to Jack. When he is finished with this tedious task, he has still gotten no response from Jesse and is beginning to grow irritable. He sends another message.

BWR-002: Jesse, I am giving you a direct order. Either you come back here right now, or tell me where you are and I will come to you. I suggest the former.

There is a knock at his door and he opens it to admit Claudia.

“Hey, Commander,” she says, glancing around at the walls of the room as if she’ll be able to see some sign of listening devices. “Would you…like to step out for a smoke?”

Gabe smiles. “Yeah, sure, Oberkampf.”

They walk a little way down the path into the garden till they find a secluded spot beneath the sakura trees. Gabe leans on the bole of a tree to light his cigarette and beckons for Claudia to stand close to him.

“My room is definitely bugged,” he says quietly. “Yours probably is, too. I think it’s pretty much standard Yakuza operating procedure. We’re likely being watched, as well. I apologize in advance, but if someone comes by, I’m going to put my arms around you. Is that alright?”

Claudia’s face feels as if it must have just turned seven different shades of pink. “I—uh—I don’t understand, sir.”

“If it looks like we’re trying to avoid being seen because we’re being…you know…romantic, we should be able to avoid raising suspicions, which is the last thing we need. I know it’s weird, but I swear it works. Jack and I used to do it all the time.”

Claudia is sure her face is as red as a tomato now. “You and—and Commander Morrison, sir?”

“We made a lot of sacrifices for the greater good, young lady,” Gabe laughs. “Don’t read anything into it. It was purely for the sake of the mission.”

“Right,” Claudia says, with a wicked twinkle in her eye. “Just for the mission, sir.”

“Are you questioning the word of your superior officer, Agent Oberkampf?”

“No, sir, of course not,” Claudia grins. “I totally believe you. I totally do.”

“All my agents are full of backtalk today,” Gabe says, shaking his head. “What did you hear from Angela?”

“I explained everything to her in as much detail as I could, including my personal reaction to the Master’s case. She said if I felt strongly that something was up, I should trust my medical instincts.”

“That’s not all, right?”

“No, she said she didn’t have an answer off the top of her head, but she’s going to look into some things and call me back in a little while.”

“Good,” Gabe says, exhaling a white plume of smoke into the air about them. “I hope she doesn’t drag her feet. Whether you’re right or wrong, time is of the essence, here. What? What’s that look for?”

“Sir…you really should quit that,” Claudia says, waving the smoke away from her face. “It’s so bad for you.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Gabe says, with a mirthless little laugh. “There’s nothing these things can do to me now.”

Claudia opens her mouth to ask what he means, when she finds her face suddenly pressed firmly into his broad, hard chest.

“Shh,” Gabe whispers into her ear. “Someone’s coming.”

Her heart skips a half-dozen beats or so and her knees begin to wobble, but his strong arms are around her, holding her steady. Maybe not a dad hug, exactly.

“False alarm,” Gabe says, releasing her just as suddenly. “It’s just Jesse. Uh, Oberkampf…you can let go now.”

“Hm? Oh, right,” she says, stepping back just in time for Jesse to miss the embrace entirely as he comes around the corner.

“Howdy, Claudia,” Jesse says, looking back and forth between them. “Hey, boss. What’s goin’ on?”

 


	81. The Traitor

“Hey Jesse,” Gabe says, nodding to his approaching agent. “We’re waiting to hear back from Angela about Sojiro’s condition. Our rooms are bugged, so we have to talk out here.”

“Yeah, I figured they was,” Jesse says. “When they brung me here, they left my computer and clothes and things, but they took my weapons and surveillance gear. Said they wadn’t allowed in my room, but they’d return ‘em when I need ‘em. What about the Master’s condition?”

“Have Hanzo or Genji told you anything about it?” Claudia asks. Jesse shakes his head, so she continues. “Very briefly, it’s a type of quick-onset neuromuscular disorder. It’s progressive, fatal, and there is no known cure.”

He shifts his weight uncomfortably. “Is that like, where folks get to havin’ seizures and whatnot and shakin’ so they can’t feed theirselves and all that mess?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly right,” Claudia says, before Gabe can think to stop her. “You’re familiar with this type of illness?”

“Yep,” Jesse says flatly. “That’s what killed my mama.”

“Oh god, Jesse, I am so sorry,” Claudia says, aghast. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Naw, don’t be. Ain’t no way you coulda known,” Jesse says. “I guess this is just one of God’s fun little practical jokes.”

“Oberkampf,” Gabe interjects. “Would you mind giving me and Jesse a minute?”

“Not at all, sir,” Claudia says, grateful for a way to escape the painfully awkward moment. “I’ll be in my room unless Dr. Ziegler calls. See you, Jesse.”

“Later, Claudia.” Jesse looks after her as she trots down the path toward the main hall. When he turns back to Gabe, there is a defiant spark in his eye. “Well?”

Gabe raises an eyebrow. “Well?”

“You ordered me to come talk to you, so here I am. What do you want?”

Gabe swallows the angry response that rushes to the tip of his tongue and takes a deep breath, counting to ten.

“Jesse,” he says calmly. “I want to apologize for the way I talked to you earlier. I was concerned about how your interaction with Hanzo was going to impact the mission, and I was—”

“Bein’ an asshole?” Jesse says, crossing his arms.

Gabe’s jaw works, but he refuses to take the bait. “Yeah, I guess I was.”

“And you been actin’ like a dick since you got here.”

“And I’ve been acting like a dick since I got here,” Gabe says through his teeth.

“ _And_ you only sayin’ sorry now ‘cause Commander Morrison made you.”

“And I’m—wait, how the fuck did you know that?”

“Only time you ever apologize to me is when he makes you. Wadn’t too tough to work out.”

“Is that true?” Gabe says musingly. “Huh. Well, I’m sorry for that, too. I’m not good at this kind of thing.”

“Admittin’ when you was wrong? I’d say you ain’t particular good at that, no.”

Gabe grins. “Well, I don’t have a lot of practice being wrong.”

Jesse smirks and looks down at his boot, kicking the gravel about with his toe. “So, why you been so shitty to me today? And don’t say it’s on account of me and Hanzo fuckin’, cause it ain’t.”

“No, it isn’t. You’re right.”

“What is it then?”

“I’m…dealing with some personal stuff right now,” Gabe says stiffly. “It’s nothing you did.”

Jesse softens somewhat. “What kinda stuff? Everything ok with Jack?”

“It’s not about Jack,” Gabe says, letting the casual use of the Strike-Commander’s first name pass. “Everything is fine with Jack.”

He takes a long look at his young protégé. He is suddenly overcome by how very much Jesse actually resembles him, and baffled as to why he’d never noticed it before. Something in the posture, the tilt of the head, the strong jawline and broad shoulders. But his eyes are what seal it. They are almost Gabe’s own eyes in another face. This boy is undeniably his son. His chest constricts painfully and he turns his head away. Jesse, misunderstanding the source of the Commander’s distress, steps closer, with a concerned expression on his handsome young face.

“Hey, boss,” he says, in a milder tone. “You can talk to me about these things, you know. I’m your friend.”

“I’ll be ok, mijo.” The affectionate term he has always used with his subordinate slips out inadvertently and bites into Gabe like a lash. “We…we should be talking about you. I called you back here because I wanted to ask you what happened with you and Hanzo.”

“That’s what you wanted to talk about?” Jesse says, raising his eyebrows. “I appreciate your concern, but ain’t we on a mission here?”

“Apparently the Strike-Commander thinks it can wait. He pretty much ordered me to get this sorted first. So, talk to me. What happened?”

“I dunno what happened, boss,” Jesse says. “I’m gettin’ two different stories and I ain’t sure what to believe.”

“How do you mean?”

Gabe hands Jesse a cigarette and lights it for him. Jesse draws on it, then holds it out in front of him, inspecting the glowing ember and exhaling a plume of blue-white smoke into the air.

“Well, Hanzo and me been…we been together. You already know that. Thing is, he told me flat out he never been with no one that way before. But today Genji told me otherwise. He said he had two before.”

“I see. But Jesse, that doesn’t sound like a lot of partners for nineteen. Is it that important to you?”

“Look, I don’t give a god damn how many fucks a fella’s got under his belt. But I do prefer not to be lied to about it. Specially when I ain’t asked in the first place. Genji says he didn’t treat ‘em too good, neither. Says their daddies was in business with the clan and Hanzo strung ‘em along till his pa get what he wanted from theirs, and once they was used up, he dropped ‘em like hot rocks.”

“Genji said their father put him up to it?”

“Pretty much.”

“And you think he’s doing the same thing to you?”

“Maybe,” Jesse shrugs. “It don’t seem like it when we together, but it fits with how he seems one way sometimes and real different other times. Like I told Genji, though, I can’t figure what he’d want with usin’ me. I ain’t got a pa in business with his family or nothin’.”

Gabe breathes through another pang in his chest. “What did Genji say about that?”

“He says he reckons Hanzo’s playin’ some game we ain’t figured out. Says he’s always doin’ shit like that. Manipulatin’ and schemin’ and all.”

“What do you think?”

“I can’t think, boss,” Jesse says, shaking his head. “I been tryin’ but I just can’t get my brain started workin’ on it. Havin’ things all fucked up between me and him like this, it’s just…it’s hard.”

Gabe studies Jesse’s face. “It sounds like you really care about this boy.”

“I thought I did. Seems like I don’t even know him, now.”

“Do you think maybe Genji misunderstood the situation between Hanzo and those boys?”

“I dunno how he coulda. Seems pretty binary, whether you fucked someone or didn’t.”

Gabe suppresses a smile at Jesse’s phrasing.

“Jesse, listen,” he says. “I know you’re hurt and I’m sorry to put it in these terms, but I need you to try to talk to Hanzo and get a read on him. If he is manipulating you, then the sooner we know it, the better. Between this and Oberkampf’s concern about Sojiro’s diagnosis, I’m beginning to have serious doubts about this whole deal.”

Jesse drops his cigarette butt into the gravel at his feet. He takes a deep breath. “Ok. Fuck it, let’s do this.”

He pivots and begins to walk away.

“Jesse,” Gabe calls after him. “Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna find out what the fuck is goin’ on here, boss.”

“Jesse, wait,” Gabe says, hurrying to catch up with his swiftly departing agent. “You’re going to talk to Hanzo right now?”

“Yep.”

“You think that’s wise?”

“I don’t reckon I give a shit. Way I see it, I can sit here wonderin’ how I’m gettin’ fucked, or I can talk to the man who’s fuckin’ me.” He casts a sidelong glance at Gabe. “No offense, boss, but I think you better not come. It’s kinda personal, y’know?”

“I—yeah, of course. Just try not to go in guns blazing, ok? Keep in mind what’s at stake.”

Jesse flashes a wicked grin. “You know me.”

Gabe stops and watches as Jesse continues down the path alone, till he turns a corner and steps out of view in the gathering twilight beneath the sakura trees. He lights another cigarette and takes out his phone.

BWR-002: Hey. I talked to Jesse. I apologized and I think we’re ok.

OCM-001: Good. You’re such a good dad.

BWR-002: Shut the fuck up.

BWR-002: And yes I am.

OCM-001: I’m looking over that proposal document now. Anything else going on?

BWR-002: Yeah, Oberkampf doesn’t like the Shimada physician’s diagnosis of Sojiro. She’s waiting to hear back from Angela.

OCM-001: What doesn’t she like about it?

BWR-002: She has a feeling they’re hiding something.

OCM-001: That sounds ominous. Keep me posted.

BWR-002: K

OCM-001: What’s wrong?

BWR-002: How the fuck do you do that? You always know when something’s wrong.

OCM-001: It’s a gift.

OCM-001: Also you only send one-letter responses when you’re upset.

BWR-002: I think Jesse thinks he’s in love with Hanzo.

OCM-001: Shit.

BWR-002: Yeah.

OCM-001: How do you feel about that?

BWR-002: I don’t know.

BWR-002: I guess I should be ok with it, but I’m not.

BWR-002: He’s my son, Jack. My actual flesh and blood.

BWR-002: We’ll be talking about the mission and his boyfriend, and all I can think about are those scars on his chest. How he was tortured by gang members and how he killed six men before he was eighteen.

BWR-002: I missed his whole life you know? And now he might just decide he wants to stay here with this boy he met ten days ago and make me miss the rest of it, too.

OCM-001: I’m so sorry, Gabe. I wish I knew how to help.

BWR-002: I just want to get this over with and take him home.

OCM-001: I know.

BWR-002: I’m going to get a little rest while I can. I’ll talk to you later, ok?

OCM-001: Ok. Love you.

BWR-002: Love you too, baby.

 

Jack slides his phone back into his jacket pocket and returns to sifting through the lengthy legal document Gabe sent from the Shimada attorneys. He is attempting to parse some baffling phrasing that he assumes must be a mistranslation, when his desk telephone rings shrilly, giving him a start.

“Damn it,” he says irritably. “Athena, where is Lieutenant Beckett?”

“Lieutenant Beckett is at lunch, Commander,” The AI’s smooth voice responds.

“Well, can you send the call to voicemail, please? I’m busy.”

“Voice-mailbox for Commander Morrison is full,” Athena says helpfully, as the telephone continues to ring. “You have two-hundred and thirty-two unreviewed messages. Would you like to review them now?”

“Fuck me. No, I’ll just take the call.” Jack sighs and picks up the phone. “Morrison.”

“John Patrick Morrison Junior,” a posh, husky British voice on the other end says. “You are a dead man.”

A delighted grin illuminates Jack’s face. “Lydia! Holy shit, how are you?”

“Don’t you Lydia-holy-shit-how-are-you me! Do you know my baby is about to be three years old? Three years old, Jackie. Do you also know how many times her uncles Jack and Gabe have come to see her? Zero. Zero, Jackie. So, anyway, I’ve called to threaten your life till you agree to a visit.”

“Oh, Lydia, I’m so sorry,” Jack laughs. “I’ve wanted to see you so much, but my job is…well, you know.”

“I’ve got a fair idea,” Lydia says. “We see you on the news all the time. I’m afraid little Lena’s got to know her uncle Jackie through press conferences and magazine covers.”

“God, that’s terrible. We need to get there. We really do.”

“You really do. Talking of magazines, what’s all this in the Atlas Journal about you and Gabe having tension and leadership differences? You finally getting sick of working together?”

“None of that is even remotely true,” Jack says. “We don’t tell those fucking news agencies anything, so they’ve just started making up their own shit.”

“I’m glad to hear it’s all rubbish, then, but I wouldn’t have to ask if you two called me like, ever.”

“I know. Just…a lot has been going on lately.”

“Jackie darling, is everything alright?” Lydia says in a softer tone. “You sound so sad.”

“Lydia…I know,” he says. “About my memory loss. I’ve recovered it. Not all of it, but…the big things. I know Gabe is my husband.”

“Oh my god Jackie! Oh my god!” Lydia exclaims, tears already audible in her voice. “Jesus and all the—fuck! I’m so happy for you, Jackie, fuck! Just…fuck!”

“Thanks, Lydia,” Jack says, laughing as her incoherent exclamations of joy continue.

“How are you? Are you ok? I can’t wait to tell Reggie. How’s my Gabey baby? Is he the happiest man alive? Obviously he’d better be or he’s an ass, but how are you two doing?”

“We’re good. He’s happy, yeah. It’s a process and it hasn’t been easy, but we’re working with a really good trauma therapist and just kind of…getting through it.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she sighs. “I’m so glad. I know it must be dreadfully painful to dredge all that up, but I can’t tell you what it means to have you back. I’ve missed you so terribly.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” Jack smiles. “And it’s inexcusable that we haven’t been to see your baby. I really am sorry.”

“I suppose I can make an exception for recovering from total amnesia, but you’d better come visit right away or I’ll never forgive you.”

“Gabe’s in Japan on a job, so he might be gone a few more weeks. But we’ll come soon, I promise.”

“What’s he doing in Japan? Busting up the Yakuza?”

“Actually, you’re not far off,” Jack laughs. “He’s working with a Yakuza clan that’s secretly trying to go legit.”

“Ooh, sounds very covert and special-opsy,” she says. “Listen, I don’t expect you two to be able to drop everything and run off at my beck and call, but I really do want you to come out for Lena’s birthday, if you can. It’s not till June, so you’ve got a couple months to work out the details and book a babysitter to look after the UN and all that.”

“I think I could arrange that,” Jack says. “June sounds perfect. I’ll tell Gabe the plan when I talk to him later.”

“That’s right! You’re the big boss. You can just order him to come with you. Brilliant! I’ll let Reggie know you’re coming. He’ll be so excited.”

“If you mean he’ll say, ‘Oh, how nice,’ and continue reading the paper, then yeah, he will.”

“I know, I know. He really should learn to control those emotional outbursts, but what can I say? He’s a man of exquisite passion.”

“Hey, so…there might be someone else we want to bring with us, if that’d be ok with you and Reggie.”

“Sure! We’ve got loads of guest rooms, so bring your whole senior staff, if you like. But you’ve made me curious. Is this a specific someone?”

“Well, Yes. Gabe has…he has a son.”

“Now I know you’re fucking with me, Jackie,” Lydia laughs. “Nice try, but if there was a molecule of hetero in either of you, I’d have found it.”

“I’m not joking, I swear,” Jack says. “Gabe didn’t sleep with the boy’s mother, or anything like that. It was an in-vitro thing done without his knowledge. We just found out about the kid recently.”

“Hmm…why do I smell Angie all over this?”

“I guess because you know her pretty well. She was definitely responsible for it.”

“You’ve got to explain this to me, Jackie, because it sounds totally bonkers.”

“She…I guess she got freaked out after she heard that Ezra was killed in action. She said she couldn’t live with the idea of losing Gabe that way, so she sort of—”

“Made a fucking backup? She made a backup copy of a person?”

“Gabe worded it more charitably when he explained it to me, but yeah. It looks that way.”

“Christ,” Lydia breathes. “I can’t even begin to know how to react to that.”

“You’re telling me.”

“I wonder if dad and uncle Alex knew about it. It’d be just like those two sneaky old bastards to keep something like this under their hats.”

“Do you think they’d tell you? If you asked? Because I’d like to hear about it from another perspective than Angela’s, if that’s possible. It sounds too fucked up for us to be getting the whole story.”

“They’ll tell me if they know what’s good for them! I’ll ask dad about it tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Oh, you don’t know. They pretty much live here, now. Dad’s getting so crotchety and grey, too. And you should see uncle Alex fretting over him and making him wear his scarf. They’re still madly in love after all these years. It’s disgustingly adorable.”

“Wow, that’s wonderful. I’d love to see them again.”

“Well, you will because you’re coming in June. They’re ridiculously proud of you and Gabe, by the way.”

“That’s so good to hear. Tell them I said hello.”

“I will! But back to Gabe’s kid. What’s his name? How old is he?”

“His name is Jesse and he’s twenty.”

“Twenty! Is he absolutely gorgeous? He must be, considering the source material.”

Jack feels his face flush with heat and thanks his lucky stars she didn’t call over video. “I—well, I mean, he is Gabe’s son. So yeah, he’s pretty gorgeous. He actually works for Gabe. He’s his best agent, too.”

“Talk about adorable! Daddy Gabe and his grown son sidekick,” Lydia says wistfully. “You positively must bring him along. I require it. I want Lena to know all her handsome uncles so she sets her standards high when she starts being interested in boys.”

“That’s a good strategy,” Jack says with a chuckle. “Except she might be confused and think she’s only supposed to date soldiers.”

“I hope not, but we’ll see. Between me and Reggie and her grandpas and you guys, her whole family is made up of military types.”

“Gay military types,” Jack says. “That’s odd, isn’t it? We’re all gay but you and Reggie.”

“You know me,” Lydia laughs. “I always like to be the one bad example. Is Gabe’s son gay, too?”

“I think he’s closer to pansexual, from what Gabe tells me. But I guess he’s in love with some boy he met in Japan, so Gabe is dealing with that right now.”

“Oh, poor Gabey. I don’t look forward to the day Lena breaks her papa’s heart and tells him she loves some man and wants to go away and leave us. Reggie will be a mess.”

“I hope Jesse doesn’t do that to Gabe. I don’t know how he’ll handle it. I mean, he’s just barely getting to know him, you know?”

“Yeah,” she says sadly. “That would be—oh, sod it. Lena’s up from her nap and fussing. I’ve got to run, love, but it’s been marvelous talking to you. Remember, you’re confirmed for June! I’ll call you later this week with details, alright?”

“Of course. And I’ll give you a call if you take too long. I really have missed you.”

“Please do! Give Gabe a big fat kiss when he gets home and tell him I love him more than anyone but you.”

“More than your daughter?” Jack says, feigning shock. “Lydia!”

“I’m a monster, I know. But to be fair, you and Gabe have never taken off your nappy and bedecked the nursery with the contents, so she’s relegated to third place for now.”

“That is fair,” Jack laughs. “Talk to you soon, Lydia. Love you.”

“Love you, too doll! Bye!”

Jack returns the handset to the cradle and immediately focuses his eyes on the scanned document on his computer screen, reading the words rapidly and aloud.

“…related or subsidiary organization or entity shall not be bound to any agreement, explicit or implicit, intended to produce financial gain or other mercenary advantage for either of the…”

When he feels it coming on like this, he can sometimes snap his attention quickly to something else, and the spell will pass. He begins to pant, gripping the edge of his desk with both hands.

“…in the course of this negotiation. Additionally, said parties agree to…”

His vision blurs. His eyes water as he strains to focus them on the text, but to no avail. A wave of dizziness knocks him back in his chair. He squeezes his eyes shut and grits his teeth.

“Athena,” he calls out breathlessly. “Ask Master Zenyatta to come here. Tell him it’s urgent, please.”

“Yes, Commander,” the AI replies placidly.

Jack’s vision goes entirely black. He has no strength to fight it on his own. He surrenders to the pain and lays his heavy, throbbing head down on his desk, hoping that Zenyatta will come quickly.

 

 

Gabe lies down on the sleeping mat in his room, but he is restless and uncomfortable, and the electronic listening devices planted in the wall and ceiling are buzzing in his ears like mosquitos. He is tempted to tear them out and smash them, but he knows this wouldn’t be wise. No sense in annoying his hosts that way. He wishes the Shimadas had more up-to-date surveillance equipment, though. The newer models are far less irritating to his enhanced hearing. This reminds him of the Daisies Jesse planted at Imagawa Castle.

He sits on his bed with his computer and connects to the Overwatch network, where he finds the report from Intel waiting in his inbox. He opens it and scans through it, then he frowns. He double-checks the dates and reads through the report again. That’s odd. There are no flags for mentions of any American spy or new friend of Genji Shimada, or anything involving sending men out to Hanamura. But the log clearly shows all six Daisies up and running, transmitting since Jesse planted them, with no irregularities.

The report only contains a summary and potential flags, though. For more detail, he’ll have to call Blackwatch Intel and find out what happened. Maybe they missed something. He steps outside and places the call, speaking to the desk agent on duty, who goes through the report for him. There is nothing but the usual, mundane chatter of a large criminal organization managing its day-to-day affairs. He thanks the desk agent and hangs up.

If the Imagawa Clan didn’t send those men after Jesse, who did? His mind returns two potential answers, neither of which are very pleasant. Either the Shimadas had their own men attack Jesse for some secret reason, or some other hostile organization has been able to find out who Jesse was, and send their men after him. A hostile organization, perhaps, like those Talon people.

He considers this idea and rejects it. They would have had to place a spy at a high level within Overwatch, or within Blackwatch itself to get intel like that. He and Jack know everyone in Overwatch with that level of clearance by name, and have vetted them personally. The same goes for his Blackwatch team. He trusts every single one of them with his life.

It must have been the Shimadas. Hanzo lying to Jesse, Oberkampf’s unease about Sojiro’s diagnosis, and now this. Alone, each of these things is not that significant, but together, they add up to a strengthening suspicion that the Shimada Clan is playing some other game, here. He looks at his phone. It’s just after eight p.m. Hanamura time. They have an hour before the three of them are expected to dine with the Shimada brothers. He decides he’ll shower and dress, and then check in with Claudia and Jesse before supper.

When he goes back into his room, the noise from the listening devices immediately sets his teeth on edge again. Have they gotten louder? He stops dead in his tracks, realizing that they have, indeed, gotten louder. And there are more of them. He can hear the tinny whine emanating from multiple new locations behind the walls, as if more of the bugs have crawled in like actual insects to join the first ones. This is impossible, of course. Listening devices don’t move around on their own. His blood freezes in his veins. _These ones do_.

He can track them by sound, and hear that they are clearly moving about inside the walls. Not only moving, arriving. The whirring drone from more and more of the electronic bugs as they crawl into the walls of his room overwhelms his senses. His head begins to spin. He turns to make for the open door, but his legs simply give out beneath him. He hits the springy tatami floor mats with a dull, heavy thud, and does not move again.

 

 

Jesse strides along briskly, buoyed by his indignation, until he steps in through the massive, gold-plated, dragon-adorned doors of the Seiden. Here, in the main hall of Shimada castle, surrounded by the austere magnificence of the ancient place, his confidence flags. He pauses and glances around. He can’t confront Hanzo like this, in his house, full of his guards and whoever all these other fellas are. He is wavering thus, when a servant approaches and bows.

“Mr. McCree,” she says. “Young master Genji requests your presence in the boys’ hall. He says it is very urgent, and cannot wait.”

“Oh, ok,” Jesse says. He hesitates momentarily, but he decides he’d better go find out what Genji needs, if he went to the trouble to send a servant after him. “Thanks. I’ll go right now.”

He turns back to the door, smiling sheepishly as the attendants who had just opened it for him to enter, open it again for him to exit. He strolls briskly toward the boys’ hall and knocks at Genji’s door. He finds Genji looking pale and manic, and pacing to and fro in an agitated manner.

“Uh…hey Genj,” Jesse says, glancing about uneasily. “Servant said you needed me quick. What’s goin’ on?”

“Jesse,” Genji says, in a tight, shaky voice. “Jesse, I have made a grave error. It is one that I do not know how to remedy.”

Genji’s tone strikes Jesse’s ears like the warning clang of a bell. A chill runs down his spine. “What do you mean you made an error, Genj? What kinda error?”

Genji looks up at Jesse pleadingly with red-rimmed eyes. “Jesse, I did not know. You must believe me. I did not know that Commander Reyes was your father.”

Jesse almost laughs outright. “Well, that’s ok, ‘cause he ain’t. I mean I guess we kinda look alike, so it ain’t hard to understand why—”

“Please, Jesse!” Genji says, growing increasingly agitated. “There is no point in wasting time maintaining the pretense. I would never have done this if I had known before, but now that I know…it may already be too late.”

“Too late for what?” Jesse says, his face draining of color. “What are you talkin’ about, Genji? What have you done to the boss?”

“I was only doing what I thought that I must. I was only trying to save my father’s life. Had I known that I would be trading your father for it—”

“Genji, you listen here,” Jesse growls, taking the boy by the shoulders and looking fiercely down into his face. “I’m just about fed up bein’ lied to by your family. Spare me the justifications and cut to the chase. What is it you done?”

Genji trembles at the sudden change in his handsome friend. He has never seen Jesse angry before. It is terrifying.

“Shortly before you arrived here,” he says, “Dr. Inoue came to me and told me there was a matter of grave importance with which he could trust no one but me. He said he had made contact with a group that could help my father. He said their genetic scientists were far ahead of the current medical technology and had already developed a cure for this illness. They told him Overwatch would soon be sending a negotiator to us, a man called Gabriel Reyes. They said he was a person of particular interest to their organization and if we would turn this man over to them, my father should have the cure and his life be saved.

Dr. Inoue pleaded with me, saying that my father had refused to listen, because in his illness, his mind had become fixated on his grand vision of remaking the clan in the image of one of the old imperial houses. He said my father would foolishly trade his life for an ideal that could never be achieved. The other families were strongly opposed to such changes in the way we have always done things, and if he died, Hanzo could never make the clan obey him as they had obeyed my father. I knew that this was true, and that it is by my father’s will alone that this goal has been pursued, but I did not care for any of the political reasons. I only wanted to save my father’s life.”

“I’ve got about another five seconds of patience for this, Genji,” Jesse says icily.

“Jesse, please, just hear me out,” Genji says miserably. “I must explain myself.”

“Ok, fine. But talk fast.”

Genji continues at a more rapid pace. “I thought it was unjust and reckless of my father to refuse to give them some man with whom we did not have any connection and allow himself to die in misery. So I agreed to help Dr. Inoue. We formed a plan together for getting their men access to the castle to take Commander Reyes when he arrived here.

When you arrived ahead of him, Dr. Inoue told me we must get you to stay inside the castle as much as possible, in case Commander Reyes did not intend to visit in person. Then if all else failed, he could be made to come. Then you and I, we—we became friends. The guilt of it consumed me, but I clung to my purpose, even knowing that you would never forgive me and that I should lose your friendship forever, because I thought I was doing what I must to save my father.

But then, just a few minutes ago, Dr. Inoue communicated with me regarding the retrieval of Commander Reyes. He told me that if I cared for your life, I must keep you out of the way. He said he had learned that you are Commander Reyes’ son, as well as his agent. He said you would certainly attempt to intervene by violent means, and he could not protect you if you did so. I have lied to you and treated you so badly, Jesse, but I swear to you up till then, I acted as I believed was right. This changed everything for me. It could not be right to trade the father of my friend for my own. I would never forgive myself, nor would my father.”

Genji’s voice chokes with deep, hoarse sobs. Jesse releases his hold on him and allows him to sink weeping into his desk chair.

“We can still fix this, Genji,” he says evenly, as if he is speaking to an erring child. “It ain’t too late. I’ll just tell the boss what’s up, and we’ll be ready for ‘em. When’s it goin’ down?”

Genji shakes his head, wiping tears from his face. “I do not know. But it is to be some time tonight, after supper. Dr. Inoue has set up some kind of device in his room to incapacitate him so that their men can retrieve him without a struggle.”

“How are they plannin’ on gettin’ past y’all’s guards and things?”

“They are already here,” Genji says, bursting into tears again. “I brought them in disguised as my bodyguards.”

“Fuck me,” Jesse says, yanking his phone out of his pocket.

He enters Gabe’s contact and taps his foot anxiously as the phone rings. It’s ringing too long. He’s not answering. Terror grips Jesse’s guts in its icy claws as the call goes to voicemail. He curses and shoves his phone into his pocket.

“Genji, we gotta get to him ‘fore they do. That’s our only chance. If these fellas are who I think, they’re dangerous as fuck, and if shit goes south, a whole lotta people here’s gonna die tonight. Where’s Hanzo?”

“He is in the Seiden, as far as I know. Either with my father or attending to business.”

“Then it looks like it’s just you and me, for now, so pull yourself together. You got any weapons here?”

Genji nods. “All of our private rooms contain safes with armor and weapons for emergencies.”

“What you got in there?”

Genji leads Jesse to a spot on the floor near his bed. He pulls up the edge of the tatami mat and touches something beneath it. A concealed panel in the floor retracts downward and slides open to reveal an impressive cache of weapons.

“Kevlar vests, Glock semiautomatic pistols, hand grenades, smoke and stun grenades, shuriken, two short swords, and an assault rifle,” Genji says. “What would you prefer?”

“I prefer a revolver, but a Glock’ll do in a pinch,” Jesse says, taking the small, black handgun and checking the clip. “Gimme a coupla them flash-bangs too. Ok, I’m goin’ right to the Commander’s room. You head for the Seiden and find Hanzo. Tell him what’s up and have him grab that doc of yours, too, if he can do it quiet. We’ll meet you there if the boss ain’t took yet.”

“I…I am so sorry, Jesse,” Genji says. “I never meant for things to be this way.”

“I ain’t gonna lie, Genj, I’m pretty fuckin’ mad at you right now. But I guess you tryina do the right thing in the end, even if it’s for a screwy reason. Let’s hope it ain’t too late.”

“Screwy? What is screwy?”

“Like, sideways. Fucked up. Y’know. Screwy.”

“Why do you say it is screwy?”

“Cause you done it on account of you think the boss is my pa.”

“But he is,” Genji insists. “Dr. Inoue told me he is.”

“Genj, I don’t know how many ways I can say it to get it through your skull, but the boss ain’t my daddy. He just ain’t. Now go on and get your ass to the Seiden. But don’t tear over there like a jackrabbit in heat. Just try to act casual. Don’t draw no attention. Got it?”

“I got it.”

Jesse stands up and tucks the Glock into the back of the waistband of his jeans, then clips the stun grenades to the side of his belt, pulling his shirt down over them to conceal them. He exits the boys’ hall from the back door to the garden, then picks his way rapidly and silently through the darkness beneath the sakura trees toward the Commander’s room.

 

 

Claudia is dozing on the soft, cushy sleeping mat in her room, when her phone chimes with an incoming message alert. She sits up and pulls it out of her pocket. It’s an email from Dr. Ziegler.

OAZ-101: Claudia, I am attending to patients and can’t get on the phone, but I may have something on Master Shimada’s condition. There is a geneticist at Oasis University who has done some groundbreaking work in treating neuromuscular disorders with gene therapy. I have not worked with her personally, but we have corresponded over email several times in the past few years. I have written asking her to take a look at the case, and she has agreed. If Dr. Inoue will contact her, she may be able to offer some assistance. Her fees will not be small, but I do not believe cost is a prohibitive factor for the Shimada family. I have included her contact details below. Good luck.

BWO-104: Thank you Dr. Ziegler, I’ll let Commander Reyes know right away. Hopefully Dr. Inoue will accept her assistance. I’ll keep you posted.

Claudia gets up and quickly pulls her hair back into as neat a braid as she can, then puts on her jacket and heads for the Commander’s room. She is disappointed not to have an immediate solution to her concerns about the Master’s diagnosis, but at least now she has an actual expert to offer. She rounds the corner and stops short. The door is open and there is a man in a white coat crouching over something on the floor. The man gives a start and turns to look up at her. It’s Dr. Inoue.

“Oh, Dr. Oberkampf,” he says, beckoning to her. “I am glad you have come. Your Commander is unwell.”

Claudia steps in and sees that he is crouching over Commander Reyes, who is lying unconscious on the tatami floor mats. She immediately kneels beside him and begins to check his pulse and breathing.

“What happened? How long has he been unconscious?”

“I do not know,” Dr. Inoue says. “I came in just now and found him this way.”

Claudia pulls a little pen light from her pocket and lifts Gabe’s eyelid, shining it into his eye. “Pupils responsive, vitals are…almost normal. Heart rate and respiration are slow, but appear to be within normal limits. Have you called for—ow!”

She looks down at her arm, then up at Dr. Inoue, who is withdrawing his hand. He is holding a tiny, silver dart like a syringe.

“I am very sorry, young lady,” he says, as the room tilts and begins to whirl around her. “I did not wish for anyone innocent to be involved in this.”

Claudia blinks hazily about, as men in black clothing and masks seem to materialize out of the shadows. She opens her mouth to scream, but her tongue feels like concrete and her voice won’t come. With a thin, rasping noise in her throat, she collapses insensible onto Commander Reyes’ body.

 

 


	82. Watermelon Seeds

Claudia is floating. Drifting contentedly along in a soft, dark haze, weightless and carefree.

 _Th-thunk_ —her tranquility is disturbed by an odd, dull sound. This irritates her. Who would be making such a sound at this time of night? What time is it, anyway?

 _T_ _h-thunk_ —there it is again. This time it’s accompanied by an uncomfortable physical sensation, as if she’s being dragged bodily downward.

 _Th-thunk_ —her limbs lose their airy lightness and begin to feel heavy and stiff.

 _Th-thunk_ —As she descends back into consciousness, she becomes aware that the sound is a heartbeat. A very slow one.

Her mind works quickly through what has happened. She has been sedated and abducted, and she is in danger in an unknown location. She knows better than to stir and betray herself. She keeps her eyes and mouth shut and lies still and silent, assessing everything about the situation that she can. She is sitting in the seat of an automobile, with her head propped up on someone’s chest on her left. Her arms are sore and cramped because her hands are cuffed behind her back.

The man she’s leaning on is certainly Commander Reyes. She recognizes his scent and the texture of his shirt from when he’d embraced her earlier. He seems to still be unconscious. They are traveling at a good pace, with no stopping and starting, and no sharp turns, so they must be on a highway or country road. The vehicle does not seem to be making any evasive movements, so they probably aren’t being pursued.

She feels someone shift in the seat to her right and a man’s voice says something in Japanese. Another man’s voice replies from the front of the vehicle. A third man, also in the front of the vehicle responds, and these two continue to speak to each other in Japanese. She feels the vehicle slow and take a right turn. When it speeds up again, the texture of the road has changed and becomes bumpy and rough. The vehicle must be an old model with physical tires rather than a hover engine.

After a moment or two, she thinks she hears the Commander’s heart rate elevate just slightly. Did she imagine it? She listens carefully. No, it has certainly elevated. He must be awake, then. Something else is happening. His body temperature is elevating, too. His muscles are beginning to tense and tighten, as if he is preparing for a sudden move. Adrenaline floods her system and her heart rate goes through the roof.

The Commander must sense this, because she feels him make an almost imperceptible, but definitely intentional movement. She presses her head harder against his chest and he responds with another very slight movement. Ok. They understand each other. They’re both awake and waiting for something to happen. Waiting for the vehicle to stop, maybe? And then…what? The Commander might make it. She’ll probably be executed. Or they’ll both be killed trying to escape from a group of certainly armed men in the middle of who knows where.

Well, if Claudia Oberkampf is going to die, she’ll be damned if she goes out without a fight. She’s had a good run. Lived a good life. Got to work for Commander Reyes, like she always wanted. Even if it has only been briefly. She wishes she’d been able to see her mother one last time, though. This will absolutely break her heart. She steadies her respiration, silently repeating the _Om Mani Padme Hum_ , till her mind enters a sort of Zen state. Impermanence, acceptance, release.

She smiles to herself. _Do your worst, motherfuckers. I’m ready._

 

 

“They could be anywhere in a fifty mile radius by now,” Jesse says brusquely, in reply to a questioning look from Genji. “I thought you said they was waitin’ till after dinner to do this thing.”

“That—that was what I was told,” Genji says, spreading his hands helplessly. “I am so—”

“I had about enough of that,” Jesse snaps. “You bein’ sorry ain’t gonna fix anything. Hanzo, what’s the status on them trackers? My intel men got a location on ‘em yet?”

Hanzo looks up at Jesse and nods, keeping his phone pressed to his ear. “They are streaming coordinates to your device now.”

He thanks the person on the other end and hangs up.

“Good,” Jesse says. “I don’t know why them dumbshits didn’t think to disable their body trackers, but I ain’t about to look that gift horse in the mouth. How fast can you get a rescue team put together?”

“They are assembled and waiting,” Hanzo says.

Jesse fastens on his black cloak over his combat gear and places his black hat firmly on his head. He checks his revolver, then spins the cylinder and slides it into the holster.

“Thanks, Hanzo,” he says, taking a deep breath. “Ok. Let’s go get ‘em.”

Hanzo picks up his bow and slings it over his shoulder. He is clad in black as well, and his long hair is pulled back from his face in a tight braid. As he and Jesse move to the door, Genji rises from his chair to follow. Hanzo whips around and freezes him with a withering glance.

“You are not going anywhere,” he hisses. “Be grateful that I have not yet informed our father of what you have done. When he hears of it, I doubt you will be allowed off the castle grounds ever again.” He opens the door and calls out in Japanese. Two guards enter and bow low. “My brother is not to leave this room or communicate with anyone until I return.”

The guards bow again and take up posts beside the door, and Jesse and Hanzo step out into the well-lit courtyard. Jesse pulls out his phone and opens the tracker. After a moment, a pair of orange blips appear in tandem on the screen, crawling steadily northwest, away from the blue icon representing his location.

“At least they kept ‘em together,” he says to Hanzo, as they walk briskly to the waiting vehicles. “I don’t reckon we’re gonna catch up to ‘em ‘fore they get where they goin’, though.”

“I had considered that as well,” Hanzo says, climbing into the vehicle. “But it appears that for the moment, we have no choice but to pursue them this way.”

He rests his bow across his knees and watches Jesse clamber in and fasten his seat belt. A man closes the door behind them and takes the front seat beside the driver. Jesse looks at Hanzo and raises his eyebrows.

“We are at your command,” Hanzo says, dipping his head. “When you are ready, you may give the order.”

“Alright then,” Jesse grins. He turns to the driver, “Let’s get movin’, fellas. We ain’t got all day.”

The driver starts the engine and radios to the vehicles before and behind them. Their head and tail lights illuminate, and they rise a few inches off the ground as their hover-engines engage. Then the cavalcade glides toward the main gate, which swings heavily open to let them pass out into the sleepy, tree-lined streets of Hanamura.

As they cruise through the town, Jesse eyes the long, ornate bow on Hanzo’s lap. “That the only weapon you got on you?”

“I have a knife and shuriken, as well,” Hanzo says tranquilly. “Though I doubt very much that I will need them.”

“Uh huh,” Jesse says, scratching his chin thoughtfully.

“What is it, Jesse?”

“I was just thinkin’…you sure you don’t want a gun or nothin’? These fellas ain’t gonna be inclined to play fair.”

Hanzo casts a sidelong glance at Jesse, a sly smile touching the corners of his exquisitely-shaped lips. “I have no intention of playing fair.”

“Oh. Uh…I see,” Jesse says, not seeing at all.

His eyes travel down Hanzo’s arm to where his hand rests on the bow. He curses and pushes his back rigidly against his seat. Little blue sparks, like tiny lightning bolts, arc and snap between Hanzo’s fingers and the rich, dark wood of the ancient weapon.

“What the fuck is that?” Jesse says breathlessly. He looks up at Hanzo wide-eyed, in undisguised awe. “How you doin’ that?”

“This is the Storm Bow, which belonged to my mother,” Hanzo says. The blue sparks dim and wink out beneath his hand as he caresses the bow reverently. “Do not underestimate its power. I carry it only at great need.”

“I guess I won’t, then,” Jesse says. He takes off his hat and combs his fingers through his hair, then replaces it on his head, still eyeing the bow suspiciously. “You got any other tricks up your sleeve I should know about?”

Hanzo laughs softly. “We shall see.”

Jesse’s stomach flutters as Hanzo slides his hand over and takes hold of his, lacing their fingers together on the seat between them. Despite all his uncertainty and doubt, the boy’s touch still makes him feel giddy and warm all over.

“Heading, sir?” the driver calls back to them.

“Holdin’ steady north-northwest,” Jesse replies. “Looks like they took that highway outta town. I’ll give a holler if they stop or change direction.”

“Yes, sir,” the driver says.

Jesse hopes anxiously that eighteen men are enough to meet whatever force they encounter. If not, they’ll have to hang back and wait for reinforcements from Shimada castle. By then, it may be too late for the boss and Claudia. His phone chirps with an incoming message from Commander Morrison. He splits the screen with the tracker so he can keep an eye on the boss’s position.

OCM-001: Anything yet?

BWM-003: no sir we still trackin em

BWM-003: they got a good half hour head start on us

OCM-001: How many men do you have?

BWM-003: 18 with me an Hanzo

OCM-001: Hanzo is with you?

BWM-003: yep

OCM-001: Alright. Just don’t let him get himself killed. That’s the last thing we need.

BWM-003: i reckon the last thing we need is the boss gettin killed

OCM-001: Jesse, please don’t do that.

OCM-001: Gabe is my husband. Do you really think his safety isn’t my primary concern, here?

BWM-003: sorry sir its just i’m pretty tense

BWM-003: genji said some weird shit to me got me all mixed up in the head

OCM-001: Weird shit like what?

BWM-003: says he come clean about it on account of their doc told him the boss is my pa

OCM-001: He said Dr. Inoue told him that Commander Reyes is your father?

BWM-003: yep. crazy shit right?

OCM-001: Yeah.

BWM-003: i mean it can’t be true

BWM-003: i mean that ain’t the kinda thing y’all woulda kept from me

BWM-003: right?

No answer.

BWM-003: commander

No answer.

BWM-003: Jack please

OCM-001: I can’t talk right now. I’m briefing the strike-teams on the situation. Report in as soon as you know anything.

BWM-003: yes sir

As he touches the screen to close the message thread, Jesse’s hands shake so hard that he drops his phone on the floor and has to bend over and fish for it. Hanzo looks at him curiously. He manages a ghastly smile, then drops his head back against the seat. His stomach churns and his mouth goes sour, as if he’s going to be sick.

“Jesse, are you ill?” Hanzo says. “You are very pale.”

“Am I?” Jesse says feebly. “I think I got a little carsick lookin’ at my phone. Could ya watch the tracker for me? Thanks darlin’.”

He rolls down his window and lets the cool, balmy sea air wash over his face.

_It can’t be true. It just can’t be true._

_But it is true._

When he repeats the idea to himself in the form of a simple, declarative sentence, it strikes that deep chord in the center of his awareness that causes his entire being to reverberate to its strain. Truth.

_Commander Reyes is my father._

Since the moment he met him, he has loved the Commander with all the earnest, fervent devotion in his young heart. Admired him, idolized him, zealously pursued his approval and affection. And the Commander has warmed up to him, too. Gradually and in his own way, of course, but he’d always treated him as if he were worth special attention. Even their half-joking nicknames for each other mean “father” and “son.”

Amidst the shock and confusion, Jesse is keenly aware of a deep, aching desire to be loved by this man. But beneath this longing is a cold vein of resentment and rage. Why? Why did he never tell him? Was he disappointed in him? Did he change his mind and decide he didn’t want Jesse for a son? In his current state of mental anguish, the idea that his Commander is capable of such callousness and cruelty doesn’t seem entirely outside the realm of possibility.

Then he feels Hanzo squeeze his hand. He has never been more grateful for the comfort of a human touch. Without thinking, he pulls the slender hand to his lips and lays a kiss on it. He only realizes his mistake when Hanzo withdraws his hand abruptly and turns away. Jesse is opening his mouth to apologize, when Hanzo calls out to the driver.

“They have turned off the highway,” he says, leaning up over the front seat to show him the tracker. “Here. It is the frontage road used to access the old salt works.” He turns to Jesse. “It has been closed down for many years, but it appears they have bypassed the barricades. They must have had them removed ahead of time.”

“If they’re takin ‘em out to some old salt works, they’re either gonna kill em there or they’ve got a ride waitin’,” Jesse says. “We better hope we catch up with ‘em fast.”

Focusing on the task at hand clears Jesse’s head and he leans over to inspect the tracker as well. Hanzo hands him the phone.

“Hang on, hang on,” Jesse says. “They stopped. Look. What’s right there?”

“There is nothing there,” Hanzo says. “They must have had some reason to pull off the road.”

“I can’t think of any reason I like.” Jesse taps the seat in front of him. “Haul ass, Yuzo.”

“Yes, sir,” The driver says.

He relays the command to the other vehicles and the convoy increases its speed, hurtling down the black highway toward its intersection with the frontage road.

“How did you know his name?” Hanzo asks Jesse in an undertone.

“Who, Yuzo?” Jesse says distractedly, keeping his eyes on the tracker. “I asked him.”

“You asked him?”

“Course I did. I know all your men’s names. The ones I run into around the castle, anyway. It ain’t polite not botherin’ to learn a fella’s name when he’s riskin’ his life for you.”

“That is very courteous, Jesse. Thank you for treating our men with respect.”

“Ain’t nothin’,” Jesse shrugs. “I’m a workin’ man, too. I ain’t no different than them.”

“You are different from most men, I think,” Hanzo says, gazing up into Jesse’s face. “I wish…”

Jesse smiles down at him. “What do you wish?”

“It is nothing,” Hanzo says, looking away quickly. “I—I will tell you another time. Pay attention to the tracker.”

 

 

Claudia feels the Commander nudge her to the side, as if he’s telling her to sit up. She pauses, to be sure. He nudges her again. Alright, Claudia, you’re on. She pulls herself laboriously upright, with a soft moan, as if she is just waking. Immediately, a hand grips the back of her neck.

“Sit still,” a man’s voice says sharply. “You cannot escape, so you had best remain calm.”

Claudia glances around the dark automobile. There are two men up front, the one on her right, and two more in the back. All black-clad, hooded, and masked.

“Hey, what—what is this?” she says groggily. “Where are we?”

“Shut your mouth,” the man says.

She yanks at her restraints, making them clink and jangle behind her. “What the fuck? Why am I cuffed?”

Gabe uses the noise as a cover to snap the chain on his own handcuffs, but keeps his hands behind his back for now.

“I said shut your mouth,” the man growls. “Do not make me warn you again.”

Claudia looks over at the Commander, who is still feigning unconsciousness. There is something around his neck. It looks like a shock collar, like the ones used to train dogs. This must be how they plan to incapacitate him, should he regain consciousness and become violent. God damn it. There goes the daring escape attempt. At that moment, his eyes snap open and he nods to her. Well. Fuck it.

“What have you done to him!” she demands loudly, turning to face the man on her right. “Where are you taking us!”

“Silence!” the man barks.

He raises his hand to strike her, but as it arcs toward her face, it is stopped dead in its trajectory by the iron grip of the Commander’s hand. The man shouts and there is a commotion for a split second, then the Commander gives a strangled groan and falls back twitching and convulsing. The man in the passenger seat turns around, holding something up for them to see. It is a little rectangular device similar to a remote control for an old a garage door.

“We have come prepared, Commander Reyes,” he says. “We have dealt with augmented soldiers before.”

Gabe glares at him, black eyes wide and fierce. “I doubt you’ve ever dealt with anyone like me.”

The man presses the button. Gabe groans through his gritted teeth, body rigid and contorted with pain. The man releases the button and he collapses against Claudia, who does her best to support him without the use of her arms. He pushes himself up and lays back in his seat, pale and perspiring.

“Alright, alright!” he pants. “What do your bosses want with us?”

“They merely desire the pleasure of making your acquaintance.”

“And they thought this was the best way to get an introduction?”

“You are…a difficult man to reach.”

“Where are you taking us?”

“We are taking _you_ to the transportation that we have arranged for you,” the man says smoothly. “Your friend, unfortunately, will not be joining us. Space is quite limited.”

“Let her go, then. Let her go and I’ll come quietly.”

The man shakes his head. “I am afraid that will not be possible. My orders are very clear.”

“Let me rephrase,” Gabe replies coolly. “Let her go and I will let you live.”

“You are in no position to make threats, Commander,” the man says, his serpentine voice tightening with anger.

Gabe bares his white teeth in a wicked grin. “You sure about that?”

The man presses the button and holds it down. Gabe fights through the racking spasm, choking and foaming through his teeth.

“You’ve made your point!” Claudia snaps. “That’s enough!”

“What do you think, Commander?” the man says, with a venomous laugh. “Have you had enough?”

Gabe crumples over as the man releases him. For a long moment, he does not respond. Then he sits up slowly, as if with immense effort.

He raises his eyes and fixes them on his tormentor. “Not nearly enough.”

The man slams his finger down on the button again. This time, however, his victim’s body remains relaxed and unresponsive. He curses under his breath and tries again. Much to his immediate discomfiture, the Commander laughs. A low rumble in the back of his throat. Menacing. Predatory.

Claudia turns her head to look at him. She gasps and shrinks away in terror as his pupils ignite from the inside with a demonic red glow. By some trick of the eye in the dark, it appears to her as if some kind of black vapor is curling up from his skin.

Then several things happen all at once. The man in the passenger seat gives a shout, furiously pounding the button on the device, but to no avail. At the same time, the one next to Claudia draws a gun. It flies out of his grasp and skitters across the dashboard. He screams and curls up, clutching his broken arm. The two behind them reach forward to grapple the Commander, but his hand is already on the driver’s head.

He yanks it backward with a sickening snap, and the driver slumps lifeless against the steering wheel. Claudia’s stomach does somersaults as the vehicle swerves wildly to the left. It spins out of control, collides with the guard rail, and rolls over three times before it grinds to a shuddering stop, upside down and in flames on the hard, rocky soil beside the road.

It slowly occurs to Claudia that she is watching this from outside the vehicle. It happened. She’s dead. She’d always thought it would hurt more. Then she realizes her hands are still bound behind her. But she’s standing on her own two feet, looking at the burning wreckage of the car she was in just a moment ago. She tugs on the cuffs to be sure they’re solid. They are. None of this makes the least bit of sense. Someone is talking to her. She looks up, half expecting to see her dearly departed grandfather, come to guide her into the afterlife.

“Oberkampf, are you ok?” Commander Reyes is saying. He puts his hands on her shoulders and looks into her face. “Are you hurt?”

“I—I guess not. I don’t feel hurt,” she says uncertainly. “Commander…are we dead?”

“No, we’re not dead,” the Commander laughs, giving her a hearty shake. “I yanked you out of there before the thing rolled. You sure you’re alright?”

“I guess I am.”

“Good. Don’t go into shock or anything, ok? I’ve got to deal with the rest of our friends.”

He takes hold of Claudia’s cuffs and snaps the chain to free her arms.

“The rest of our friends?” she asks, mystified.

She turns to see four more vehicles—big, black SUVs—screeching to a halt on the road, about twenty yards away. Men pile rapidly out of them shouting and levelling firearms at her and the Commander. He grabs her and falls to the ground, pulling her down with him.

“Stay low,” he says. “I’ll be right back.”

Then he simply vanishes. He doesn’t very quickly get to his feet and dash off, he literally vanishes. Claudia blinks at the empty space where he was, then turns her bewildered gaze toward the armed men. For a moment there is tense silence. Then one of the men screams. Then another. Bursts of gunfire erupt and men scatter as one of the vehicles is tossed onto its side, crushing two of them beneath it. She watches from her prone position. It’s difficult to make out what is happening in the darkness and mayhem, but it looks as if some of the men are throwing down their weapons and retreating. The barrage of gunshots has already died down to sporadic pops here and there.

She thinks she catches a glimpse of the Commander darting between two of the vehicles, but it’s just a shadow. She squints. It’s a shadow shaped like a man, hooded and clothed in black from head to toe. It turns in her direction to grab a fleeing gunman by the neck. Her hair stands on end. Its face is obscured, but she clearly distinguishes glowing red eyes in the inky void beneath the hood. Just like the Commander’s had looked a few minutes ago. Right before he had snapped the driver’s neck like a twig. She averts her eyes as the unfortunate gunman meets a similar fate.

She is lifting her head to look again, when two sets of strong hands take hold of her arms and drag her roughly to her feet. She gives a yelp of protest, but a hand is clamped firmly over her mouth. Apparently some of the attackers have used the confusion to break away and circle around behind her. She twists violently about, kicking and struggling to free herself from their grasp. One of the men curses in Japanese as her boot connects with his stomach.

He grips her legs more securely and they continue on, carrying her swiftly into the dark and away from the Commander. She sees that they are headed for three other vehicles, parked a little distance away. More big, black SUVs. Why do all these criminal types seem to shop at the same car dealership? At least these ones have hover engines. The ride to wherever they’re taking her to kill her will be more comfortable.

They stop beside one of the vehicles, and the two men put her down and release her arms. She whirls about, fists up, ready to fight for her life. Then she stops short, finding herself looking up into Jesse’s handsome, smiling face. Hanzo (who is not smiling) is standing beside him. She abandons professional etiquette and leaps forward to embrace her friend, nearly weeping with joy and relief.

Jesse laughs and lifts her off the ground, hugging her tightly. Hanzo crosses his arms and steps back a pace, clearly disapproving.

“Oh my god, Jesse,” she says, as he sets her back on her feet. “I’ve never been so glad to see someone in my life. I thought you were more of those men and you were taking me—oh fuck! The Commander! He’s fighting them alone!”

“I reckon he’s got it pretty well covered,” Jesse says. “He popped over soon as we rolled up and told us to grab you and hang back to scoop up stragglers for questioning. We caught a couple runnin’ off, but, uh…we mighta come a little over-prepared.”

He indicates to the Shimada security team, who are leaning on the SUVs smoking, or sitting idly inside them.

“When you say popped over…” she begins.

“Yeah, I mean he done that thing he does,” Jesse laughs. “Y’know, where you lookin’ right at him and he just up and poofs. You get used to it.”

“What about Dr. Inoue?” she asks. “Do you have him in custody?”

Jesse’s smile evaporates. “He wadn’t with you?”

“He wasn’t in the car we were in. It’s possible he was in one of the others, but I didn’t see him.”

“Well, shit,” Jesse says. “If you’ll excuse me a minute, I better go find out.”

Then he darts off toward the scene of the fight.

 

 

Gabe drops the lifeless body of an attacker into the dirt at his feet. He stands there for a moment, looking around dazedly. A bullet explodes into his right shoulder. He appears at the shooter’s side and tosses him to the ground. Then he staggers, stumbles, and falls to his knees beside the man. Including that last one, he’s been shot at least fifty times. His jacket is torn to shreds and his shirt and jeans are riddled with holes. His body is burning like a furnace. He can feel the nanites protesting, straining with all their effort to control the damage.

It isn’t going to be enough. He is finally going to die.

He closes his eyes, breathing as deeply as he can through the razorblades of pain that are tearing him apart. He thinks of Jack. Dear, beautiful Jack. The man he loves more than life and longs for more than death. He thinks of the sun in Jack’s hair and the sky in his eyes. The way he looks when—the gunman lying on the ground before him gives a plaintive moan, snapping him out of his reverie.

“Hey, could you shut the fuck up, please?” Gabe says, prodding him with his knee. “I’m trying to think about my husband while I die. Have some goddamned respect.”

As he is saying this, a thick, black vapor issues from his mouth like smoke. He snaps his jaw shut and looks down. It is seeping out of his clothes, his pores, his whole body. He watches, stupefied, as it coalesces and snakes downward in a whirling eddy, and streams directly into the mouth and nostrils of the gunman.

A hideous, gurgling scream dies in the man’s throat as his face transforms before Gabe’s eyes. Skin grey, eye sockets desiccated and hollow, as if he’s been dead a year. Then the vapor reemerges, billowing up out of the man’s open mouth and swirling lazily back to Gabe, thicker and blacker than before. _Heavier_.

He shudders as it creeps over his skin like a cold mist and infuses itself into his body, just as it had done when the nanites killed Germain. His breath hitches and his eyes roll back with an intense, bracing wave of euphoria. He is instantly more alert, and far less certain he is going to die. His physical pain is swiftly being overshadowed by something new. A savage, desperate hunger.

Without knowing what he is doing, he finds himself scenting about, like a ravenous predator seeking prey. Two more gunmen are crouching in the dirt on the other side of a flaming vehicle. He can hear their heartbeats. Smell their fear. Feel them quivering and warm like hunted animals hiding in a hedge.

The hunter materializes before them and takes them by their throats. The vapor leaves him again, consumes, and returns. He drops the empty husks. The hunger is sated. He can sense his body healing itself, actually feel his cells being knit together and his tissues remade. He feels powerful, vital, more alive than he has in decades. The sensation is intoxicating.

He pats his pockets for his cigarettes. The box is smashed and most of them are destroyed, but one is still in serviceable condition. He puts it in his mouth and searches for his lighter. Not finding it, he strolls over to the one of the wrecked vehicles and uses the flames to light his cigarette. Then he begins to pick his way through the devastation toward the road, scanning the area for any more survivors. There are none left alive.

Something small and heavy rolls down his chest beneath his shirt and falls to the ground at his feet with a dull plunk. He stops to pick it up and examines it curiously. It’s a bullet. Warped and flattened from being fired into something. He is considering this oddity, when it happens again. He realizes with a jolt that these are bullets that have been shot into his body, and that they are being ejected as his wounds are repaired.

Three or four more drop out into the dirt with heavy little plops. He laughs drunkenly as he walks along. Laughs at the utter absurdity of the thing. His body is spitting out spent bullets like watermelon seeds. He hears footsteps rapidly approaching and looks up. It’s Jesse. He almost laughs at Jesse, too. That sweet, earnest face looking so serious and concerned beneath that ridiculous cowboy hat.

“Hey, boss,” Jesse says, stopping and eyeing him up and down. “You alright?”

“Hey, mijo,” Gabe nods. “Si. Todo bien.”

“Ok, good. Uh…any survivors on your end?”

“Solo yo.”

“Dr. Inoue wadn’t with ‘em, was he?”

“No. Why would he have been with them?”

“Hoo boy,” Jesse says, pushing back the brim of his hat. “I guess I better explain some shit.”

 

 

In a cavernous, richly-furnished office, somewhere high in a tower of glass and steel, above a sea of twinkling city lights, two figures sit watching the scene in the Shizuoka Prefecture of Japan play out, transmitted securely to their remote location and displayed on a massive holovid screen. As the last of the attackers meets his end at the hands of Gabriel Reyes, the feed cuts off and the screen goes dark. The two figures sit in silence for a moment.

“He is so strong,” one says at last.

“He will grow stronger,” the other replies softly.

There is a pause.

“What of the Shimada?”

“Let him have his cure. We have got what we came for.”

 

 


	83. The Reverend Jesse McCree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's been a long time since I updated. I apologize for the delay, but alas, life continues to happen with very little regard for my writing schedule. Thank you to everyone for sticking with it and for all your support and lovely comments on my little story. I hope you continue to enjoy it!

Gabe clambers into the back of the big, black SUV and flops heavily into the leather seat.

“Claudia! Hola mami,” he says, slurring his words drunkenly. “You’re alive!”

“Yes, sir,” Claudia says, catching him as he lolls against her. “I’m glad to see you’re alive, too. Are—are you ok?”

“Si, si. No hay pedo,” he says, as she hoists him upright. His head drops back onto the headrest. “What are you doing?”

“I’m fastening your seatbelt, sir,” she says, pulling it around his waist.

“No seatbelt,” he pouts, struggling to sit up. “No lo quiero.”

“Well, it’s already buckled, so you’ll have to undo it yourself if you don’t want it. What’s gotten into you? You’re acting like a fussy kid at naptime.”

“About fifty bullets got into me,” he laughs croakily, tugging at his lacerated shirt. “I’m all…all shot up.”

“Jesus Christ, Commander!” Claudia gasps. She leans closer to inspect the garment. “They shot you fifty times?”

“Or thereabouts. I didn’t exactly count,” he grins. “Don’t worry, though. It’ll take more than that to kill me.”

“Ok, well, I’m going to have to examine you. Sit still.”

She tears his shirt open to the neckband and begins to prod his chest and ribcage.

“Para, para,” he protests, trying to arrest her wrist. “¿Qué estás haciendo?”

“I’m searching your torso for bullet wounds, Commander.” She swats his hand away. “Don’t be difficult or I’ll sedate you.”

“ _You’re_ difficult,” he grumbles. “You can’t sedate me. I’m the boss.”

He continues to squirm as she examines him, but she quickly sees that there is not so much as a scratch on him. Nothing to indicate he’s been injured in the slightest. She shakes her head.

“I can see that you’ve been shot,” she says, zipping up what’s left of his jacket. “Your clothes are destroyed, but there are no wounds on you. How did you heal so fast?”

He opens his mouth to reply, but just then, the door opens and Jesse pops his head in.

“Hey boss, Claudia,” he says briskly. “Hanzo got a hold of Sojiro. He ordered security to comb the castle for Dr. Inoue and let us know when they got him. They’re on full lockdown and Sojiro and Genji are under heavy guard till we come back. I’m about to report in to Commander Morrison about the situation. Anything specific you want me to tell him?”

“Good work, mijo,” Gabe slurs, without raising his head. “Tell Jack…tell him I love him.”

Jesse’s eyes dart to Claudia’s face, then back to the Commander.

“Uh…yes sir. I’ll relay that information, sir,” he says, then he shuts the door hastily, leaving Claudia and Gabe alone in the vehicle again.

Claudia clears her throat and nudges the Commander’s boot with hers. He doesn’t appear to notice, so she does it again, more forcefully.

“What?” he says, lifting his head to look at her. “Why are you kicking me?”

She arches an eyebrow. “So…you and Commander Morrison. You used to _act_ like you were going off to be romantic. You know. Just for the sake of the mission.”

Gabe grins wickedly. “I’m a method actor.”

“Right. You’re a regular William Shakespeare.”

“Shakespeare _wrote_ plays,” he retorts. “He wasn’t an actor.”

“You know what I mean. Why are you two hiding your relationship?”

Gabe sighs and rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands. “For…a lot of reasons. Listen, Claudia, we really don’t want people to know. Please don’t say anything to anyone.”

“Of course I won’t say anything!” she says, tossing her head indignantly. “But…it’s nice knowing that about you. To be honest, it makes you both a lot more likeable.”

“Does it, now?” he smirks. “Us both? Or just me?”

She smiles sheepishly. “Well, mostly you. I don’t think Commander Morrison could get any more likeable if he tried.”

“Yep. Everyone loves Jack,” Gabe says, trying to twist into a more comfortable position under his tightly-fastened seatbelt. “He’s everyone’s favorite blonde white guy.”

“Is that—is that the reason…” she begins, but she trails off, realizing the extremely personal nature of the issue she’s skirting.

“Yeah, that’s…it is,” Gabe mumbles. He is rapidly losing the battle with unconsciousness. “That’s why Jack’s…Commander.”

“You get some rest now, sir,” Claudia says gently. “Doctor’s orders.”

Gabe reaches over and clumsily pats her knee. “I’m…I’m gonna. Thanks, Claudia. You’re…a good…”

He is unconscious before he finishes his thought. Claudia hears something plunk onto the seat beside him and just catches it before it rolls into the crevice between the cushions. It’s a warped, spent bullet. It must’ve fallen out of his pocket. She wonders why he’d have kept such a thing. Another thought occurs to her, and he stuffs the bullet securely into her trousers pocket for safekeeping. She pulls off her jacket and lays it over him, gazing into his scarred face with a look of deep concern. Then she yawns heavily, as a wave of exhaustion washes over her. Making sure her own seatbelt is securely fastened, she lays her head on the Commander’s shoulder and quickly drifts off to sleep herself. She wakes some time later to Jesse shaking her gently.

“Hey, wake up,” he’s saying. “We’re here.”

“Huh? I’m up.” She lifts her head and blinks around. “Where’s here?”

“Shimada Castle,” he says. “Y’all slept the whole way back. They got Dr. Inoue and they’re waitin’ for us in the Seiden.”

Jesse helps Gabe climb out, then holds out a hand to assist Claudia, and the three follow Hanzo up the steps of the main hall. There are armed guards literally everywhere. She’d known the Shimadas were big-time, but she’d had no idea they had this many people in their entire organization, let alone an actual private military force. She shudders. If things had gone badly with the Shimadas, they’d all be dead. Except the Commander. Apparently, he can sustain fifty gunshot wounds and be walking an hour later. Fifty. She needs to talk to Dr. Ziegler about his augmentations the minute they get back.

The heavy doors of the Seiden swing open to admit the party, and Genji comes forward to meet them, flanked by guards and looking very pale and distressed.

“Brother,” he says urgently. “Our father wishes to see you right away.”

“Of course he does,” Hanzo says curtly, brushing past him. He turns to the Commander. “If you will follow me, we will go directly to the Master’s chamber.”

Genji looks wounded, but remains beside Hanzo as they stride down the long hall to the staircase. Claudia trails behind, uncertain if she is meant to be included. But, since no one stops her or even seems to notice her presence, she follows the group up the narrow staircase and into the vast and lofty private chamber of the Master of the Shimada Clan.

The room encompasses an entire floor of the castle and is beautifully (though sparely) furnished in the traditional Japanese style. It is lit warmly by oil-burning lamps and a large fireplace opposite the wide, low bed. The windows have been thrown open to admit fresh air, and the crimson draperies billow and curl in the gentle breeze. The visitors’ feet pad softly across the springy tatami mats till they stop at the end of the Master’s bed. The Master himself sits propped up against black and crimson cushions beneath a massive golden carving depicting two intertwined dragons, whose gleaming eyes seem to stare down forbiddingly at the strangers who have entered their domain.

Shimada Sojiro, despite his obviously weakened state of health, is the most awe-inspiring man Claudia has ever laid eyes on. In his presence, even her Commander looks subdued and almost smaller. He is an older man, but very handsome, and his entire aspect is commanding and noble, rather than sharp and cunning, as she’d have expected from the leader of a criminal empire. His fine, aristocratic features bear a strong resemblance to Hanzo’s, but they are sturdier and more masculine. His long, blue-black hair is silver at the temples and he wears a neatly-trimmed beard, flecked with salt and pepper. His skin is pale and smooth, and his pronounced brow sits above keen, intelligent, black eyes that appear to take in every detail of his surroundings without moving about to do so.

The five visitors bow, then stand silent, awaiting the Master’s word. Claudia tries to make herself as small and invisible as possible as the Master’s eyes travel over the guests one by one, coming to rest on the Commander.

“Gabriel,” he says, in his rich, sonorous voice. “I am glad to find that, despite my younger son’s stupidity, you are alive and unharmed.”

“I am, Sojiro,” the Commander says, bowing again. “Thank you for your assistance.”

“I cannot accept your thanks, Gabriel. The credit belongs to my elder son, who mobilized our security forces and brought them speedily to your aid.” Sojiro’s eyes flash fire as he looks at Genji, who hangs his head and shrinks closer to Jesse. “Indeed, there would have been no need of such assistance, had my younger son not dishonored me, our family, and himself by his actions.”

“I was able to handle the men they sent,” Gabe says. “The boy’s actions were foolish, but he did confess. No real harm came of it.”

“Youthful foolishness cannot excuse such base and disgraceful conduct,” Sojiro says, keeping his black gaze trained on his son. “Go from my sight, Shimada Genji. I cannot look upon you for shame.”

Genji bows tremulously and hurries from the room without a word. Sojiro waits till the door slides shut behind him, then turns to Hanzo.

“Hanzo, go with him and see that he does nothing else foolish,” he says, in a much gentler tone. “Your brother is a yet a child and his guilt, coupled with my displeasure, will weigh heavily upon him.”

“Yes, father,” Hanzo says, turning to go.

“Before you go to him, tell the guards to fetch Dr. Inoue,” Sojiro says. “He has been confined to his quarters to await my judgement.”

Hanzo’s face drains of color. He stands there for a moment, as if hesitating, then he bows and glides silently out the door.

Sojiro returns his attention to his guests. “Gabriel, I cannot sufficiently express my regret regarding what has occurred. I can only beg your forgiveness and hope that our arrangements may move forward as planned.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Gabe says. “I understand that what happened was due to the actions of two individuals and not you or your organization. There’s no reason to let this derail our plans.”

“I am relieved to hear you say that,” Sojiro says. “It would be a heavy blow to me to lose now what I have been designing for so long. I hope that you will not doubt the safety of remaining here at the castle while we finalize our agreement. Our security measures are being revised, the guard has been doubled and trebled, and our intelligence men are conducting a thorough search and scan of every inch of the castle grounds as we speak. I give you my word that such a breach will not be permitted to occur again.”

“Of course,” Gabe says. “The circumstances were extenuating. Now that the issue has been exposed and dealt with, I trust your men to keep us safe.”

“Thank you for your continued confidence, Gabriel,” Sojiro says. “You will have to be moved to a new room, however. Yours has been taken apart and stripped to the bones in search of the device used to incapacitate you. Unfortunately, my men have found nothing.”

“I figured as much. There were multiple devices and they seemed to have some means of moving about on their own. I’ll give a full description of what I observed to your security men. Did you get anything useful out of Genji or the doctor?”

“Genji knew very little from the first, I am afraid. I believe Dr. Inoue has been as forthcoming as possible, but he was not able to tell us much more. His interview was recorded in its entirety, and you are welcome to review it. I have informed the security chief that you are to have free access to our intelligence databases.”

“Thank you. I would like to see it myself,” Gabe says. “What about the cure, though? The whole reason Dr. Inoue cooked up this scheme in the first place. Do you have it?”

Sojiro reaches over and lifts what appears to be a small, black brief case from the night table beside his bed. “Dr. Inoue carried this with him when he was brought before me,” he says, opening the case.

Gabe steps forward to inspect the contents and Sojiro hands it to him. It contains twelve syringes filled with what appear to be prepared injections.

“He explained to me what it was and implored me to make use of it to save myself,” Sojiro says. His black eyes glint fiercely. “I retained it only so that you might bear witness when I cast it into the fire with my own hands.”

“But why, sir?” Claudia exclaims, aghast. Commander Reyes gives her a warning look, but she’s already spoken, so she may as well have it out. “What I mean is, I know what Dr. Inoue did was wrong, but if you have the means to save your life right here, why throw it away?”

“I understand, young lady, that you speak from the school of Hippocrates and that to you, preservation of life is the most sacred principle,” Sojiro says mildly. “But there more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy. I will die with honor rather than take this thing purchased with the blood-price of a friend.”

Gabe bows and holds the case out to Sojiro, who dips his head and takes it. There seems to be some sort of understanding between the two old warriors. Claudia makes a mental note to suture her damned mouth shut before she lets anything else so stupid come out of it.

“There’s still hope, Sojiro,” Gabe says. “Before we were taken, Dr. Oberkampf was attempting to contact our chief of medicine, Dr. Ziegler, to find out if she had any insight into your condition.” He turns to Claudia. “You didn’t happen to hear from her before they grabbed you, did you?”

“I did, sir,” Claudia nods. “I was coming to your room to tell you, actually. I found Dr. Inoue kneeling over you and then he stuck me with some kind of tranquilizer and…you know the rest. Anyway, Dr. Ziegler gave me the contact information for a physician who specializes in the treatment of conditions like yours, Master. The cost won’t be insignificant, but she comes highly recommended and she’s already agreed to help. If you wouldn’t mind giving her a chance, I’d be happy to contact her for you.”

“Hm. It is not my custom to be seen by a stranger,” Sojiro says, frowning thoughtfully. “But…I suppose I have few options left to me. Very well. Contact this doctor. We shall see what she has to say, at least.”

“Excellent,” Gabe says. “Claudia, you should try to get a hold of her right away. Any chance our phones were recovered?”

“Your communication devices were found in your room,” Sojiro says. “They appeared to be undamaged. My chief of security is holding them for you with your other belongings.”

“If you’ll excuse me then, Master,” Claudia says eagerly, “I’ll go contact her right now.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Sojiro says, with a stately nod. “A servant will direct you to the security center.”

Claudia bows and makes her hasty retreat.

Sojiro watches her go, then turns to Gabe. “She is a lovely young lady.”

“And an excellent physician,” Gabe says proudly.

Sojiro smiles. “Tell me, Gabriel, are all of your female agents so exceptional?”

“None of them are quite as exceptional as Claudia. I only take the very best.”

“A wise strategy.” He casts his gaze on Jesse and sits silent for a moment, eyeing the boy up and down. “So. This is the famous outlaw Jesse McCree. My sons have had much to say about you.”

“Yes, sir,” Jesse says, with a stiff bow. His voice trembles nervously and he finds he can’t make himself look directly at the man. “I’m Jesse McCree, sir. Thank you for lettin’ me stay here and gettin’ your doc to patch me up and everything. It was mighty kind of you.”

Sojiro laughs a booming, merry laugh that sets the vast room echoing with its music.

“You need not be afraid of a feeble old man like me, Jesse McCree,” he says warmly. “You have done very well. Your Commander should be proud of you.”

“Thank—thank you, sir,” Jesse says, raising his eyes briefly, then looking back down at his boots. “I was only doin’ my job, sir.”

“I wonder,” Sojiro says, his eye still twinkling with some private mirth. “But you are welcome in Shimada Castle as long as you should choose to stay with us. As are you, Gabriel, and Dr. Oberkampf.”

As he is saying this, there is a sharp knock at the door. Two guards hurry into the room without waiting to be called for, and speak to the Master rapidly in Japanese. He answers and dismisses them, and then sighs.

“It is as I expected,” he says gravely. “Dr. Inoue has chosen to preserve his honor by taking his own life. May his spirit find rest among those of his ancestors.”

Jesse looks quickly up at Gabe, but his eyes are fixed on the Master, whose face seems suddenly drawn and haggard.

“I apologize, Gabriel, but I—I feel an episode coming on,” he says, in a hoarse, weary voice. “I would not be seen when I am in such a condition. Shall we continue our conversation at another time?”

“Of course. I’ll send the nurse in after us,” Gabe says, laying a hand on the Master’s shoulder. “Be well, old friend.”

With that, he and Jesse bow and depart the Master’s chamber. At the foot of the stairs, Gabe tells a servant to send the Master’s nurse in immediately, and then the two make their way out into the tranquil silence of the moonlit garden. They meander along the path till they have reached the spot where they talked with Claudia earlier, before all the chaos of the night unfolded.

Gabe’s drunken euphoria has worn off, replaced by bone-deep exhaustion as his nanites devote every resource they have to meeting the heavy demand of repairing his internal systems. He pats his pockets absently. That’s right, his cigarettes were all shot to atoms.

He turns to Jesse. “You got a smoke?”

Jesse stands there for a moment, eyeing him cagily. “You ok, boss?”

“Yeah, I’m ok, Jesse.”

“You sure you ain’t hurt or nothin’?”

“Yeah, I said I’m fine,” Gabe says impatiently. “Why?”

“Cause there’s somethin’ I owe you, and I wanted to make sure you was really ok ‘fore I give it to you.”

“Jesse, what are you—”

Gabe’s question is cut short by a heavy, lightning-quick blow to his jaw. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve seen it coming and had time to consider how to deal with it before it got anywhere near his person. But at the moment, his enhanced senses are greatly dulled by his body’s intense healing process. As such, he is caught entirely off his guard. Jesse punches like a prizefighter, and the powerful blow would have knocked any other man flat on his back. Gabe simply staggers and catches himself against the bole of a tree, gasping and momentarily stunned.

“God fuckin’ damn it!” Jesse groans, clutching his fist against his stomach. “I think I broke my fuckin’ hand.”

“Probably.” Gabe straightens himself up and rubs his jaw. “You feel better?”

“No, I feel like a got a fuckin’ busted hand.”

“Come here,” Gabe says. “Let me see.”

Jesse holds out his hand and Gabe cradles it in his open palm, inspecting it gingerly. The knuckles are already swelling and turning purple.

“You should’ve hit me with your prosthetic. It would’ve hurt a lot less.”

“Yeah, well I ain’t really thought it through. Maybe I should take another whack at it.”

“No you shouldn’t,” Gabe says, tearing a strip of fabric from his shredded t-shirt. “You’ll be slowed down enough without the use of one hand. There’s no sense in breaking them both.”

“Hey, let go,” Jesse says, as Gabe begins to wrap the bit of cloth tightly around his hand. He tries to yank it away and yelps in pain. “Fuckin’ shit, that hurts!”

“I bet it does,” Gabe says calmly. “Hold still, pendejo. You’re making it worse.”

Jesse glares, but he does as he is told, watching as Gabe carefully binds his knuckles. He ties it securely and then lets go of Jesse’s hand.

“So…you know,” he says.

“Yep.”

“I’m sorry, Jesse.”

“Fuck you.”

“That sounds about right.”

“Yeah,” Jesse says, his big brown eyes ablaze. “Yeah, it does sound about right. Fuck you. Fuck you and Jack and everyone else and this whole fuckin’ thing.”

“I’m so sorry, Jesse,” Gabe repeats, not knowing what else to say.

“I heard you the first time.” Jesse’s voice quakes with rage, despite his best effort to control it. “You can stick your sorry right up your ass. You let me live all alone after my mama died. Live a life where I had to kill men to survive, where I almost died a hundred times, never knowin’ I had a pa out there somewheres who coulda saved me any time if he could be bothered to get off his fuckin’ ass and come for me.”

“No. No. It wasn’t like that,” Gabe says weakly, borne down by the onslaught of Jesse’s justified, if misdirected, wrath. “It…it wasn’t my fault.”

“Oh, it wadn’t?” Jesse retorts, his voice saturated to the fiber with sarcasm. “Well, I beg your pardon, then. I didn’t know it wadn’t your fault. Tell me, boss, whose fault was it?”

“I’m not trying to assign blame, here, Jesse. Please hear me out.”

“Well?”

“Your mother was…the pregnancy was created in vitro, which means—”

“I know what fuckin’ in vitro means. I ain’t a fuckin’ idiot.”

“I know you’re not an idiot. I was just trying to explain that I had no part in…” Gabe immediately sees his mistake and tries to backpedal. “What I mean is—”

“No, I got it,” Jesse snaps. “You was just tryin’ to explain how you ain’t—how you ain’t never wanted me anyhow. I guess that’s why you didn’t tell me.”

“No, Jesse, no. Listen to me. I’m telling you I didn’t know.”

“The fuck you mean you didn’t know? How could you not know?”

“I never even met your mother. My genetic material was taken without my consent and used to—”

“To mix me up in petri dish,” Jesse interrupts. “Like a fuckin’ science experiment. So that’s it. I ain’t even a person to you.”

Gabe shakes his head and looks down at the ground. Jesse paces agitatedly to and fro, gripping his head with both hands, as if he’s trying to physically push his thoughts into order. He stops and turns on Gabe again.

“So, let me get this straight. You’re sayin’ it was my ma who done me like this. And she lied to me about it till the day she died. My own mama. That what you’re tellin’ me?”

“It’s a lot more complicated than that,” Gabe says. “Whatever your mother told you, it was for the sake of doing the best she could for you, I’m sure of it.”

“Are you?” Jesse says in a strained, manic voice. “Cause I ain’t. I can’t trust no one no more. Not even my dead mama. Everyone I ever knew been lyin’ to me all the time.”

“Jesse, I’m—”

“Don’t fuckin’ say it! I’m sick and fuckin’ tired of hearin’ sorry. Everyone’s sorry. Meanwhile, I spent my whole life wonderin’ who my daddy was and it turns out I been lookin’ him right in the face every day for the last three years without knowin’ it.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to explain, Jesse. I didn’t know it either. Not till recently.”

“How long. How long have you known?”

“I found out a couple of days after you left to come here.”

This defuses Jesse’s wrath slightly, but not enough to make him reasonable.

“And when was you plannin’ on tellin’ me?” he says, through gritted teeth. “Or was you even gonna tell me at all?”

“Of course I was going to tell you,” Gabe says pleadingly. “But I wanted to wait to talk to you about it until after the mission. I didn’t think it’d be wise to drop a bomb like this on you in the middle of a job.”

“I guess you—you fucked that one up,” Jesse says, choking back a sudden sob. “Bombs away.”

Against his will, heavy tears roll down his face and splash onto the front of his shirt. He dashes them angrily away and wipes his hands on his jeans. Then his limbs betray him. His knees buckle and he sits down hard on the ground. Gabe kneels beside him and lays a hand on his shoulder, but Jesse shrugs it off. He digs out his cigarettes and lights one, taking a few drags while he steadies his nerves. Gabe waits, watching him closely.

“I wish you never took me from the Deadlocks,” he says in a flat, toneless voice. “At least with them, I was sure who I was and where I stood.”

This remark cuts deep into Gabe’s most vulnerable spot. He recoils visibly, blinking as if he’s been slapped, but Jesse doesn’t seem to notice.

“Tell me somethin’, boss,” he says, rolling his cigarette back and forth between his fingers and gazing at the glowing ember. “If you didn’t know about me, why’d you come take me and kill all my friends?”

“I was just doing my job,” Gabe says quietly. “All I was there to do was get rid of the Deadlock gang. It had nothing to do with you.”

“So it was just a fuckin’ coincidence, then,” Jesse replies, his voice tightening with anger again. “You just happened to drop into nowhere fuckin’ New Mexico and pick me up by accident.”

“I never said it was a coincidence,” Gabe says. “I said I didn’t know about you. Someone else did, and apparently this person thought the best way to bring us together was to send me after you without making me aware of our relationship.”

“Ain’t that sweet. How’d this ‘someone’ know you wouldn’t just kill me, too?”

“I asked the same question. This person claims to have been certain I wouldn’t harm you. It was an insanely foolish risk, but it paid off. I knew the minute I met you that you didn’t deserve to go down with the rest of the Deadlocks.”

“Why not? I was a murderer and all other kinda criminal, just like they was.”

“No, you were a child. You were not responsible for what you had to do to survive in that world all on your own.”

“I wadn’t any more a child then than I am now.”

“You’re still a child to me,” Gabe says, sighing wearily. “But I’m a very old man.”

“Why’d you bring me with you and make me a spy and shit, then? Ain’t that pretty dangerous work for a child?”

“That’s not what I meant by child. I meant I saved your life because you were innocent. I wanted to keep you with me because I saw something in you.”

“Somethin’ like what?”

“I don’t know how to describe it exactly. I could tell you were different, somehow. Maybe it was my genetic bias trying to get my attention, but I don’t think so. You had some kind of…spark. A fire in your eyes that most people don’t have. I knew you had enormous potential.”

“You sure you wadn’t just impressed by my trick-shootin’?” Jesse says, with a grim smile.

“I _was_ impressed, but that wasn’t it. I’ve seen good marksmanship before.”

“I reckon you ain’t never seen any as good as mine.”

“No, I haven’t. Jesse, listen to me,” Gabe says, gazing intently into the boy’s tear-streaked face. “I know your life has been miserable and lonely and horribly, cruelly unfair. Even before I knew about this, I wished so badly that I could have rescued you from it sooner. If there was any way I could have changed things, any way I could have made things better for you, I would have. If I’d had even the slightest inkling you existed, I would have devoted all my time and resources to finding you and bringing you home.”

He places his hand firmly on Jesse’s shoulder again. Jesse shakes his head, but he doesn’t try to shrug him off this time.

“No, you—you wouldn’t,” he says. “Would you really?”

He lifts his face and looks up into his Commander’s eyes with such a pathetic and childlike expression, that Gabe has to fight back an urge to embrace the boy right then.

“I swear it, Jesse. I’d have spent every penny I have and every waking moment searching for you. And those aren’t small things, either. I’m absurdly wealthy and if I’m not injured, I don’t actually need to sleep at all.”

“Why would you do that for me?” Jesse says, hanging his head. “I ain’t a son no one would want. I ain’t nothin’ to be proud of.”

“You’re wrong. You are everything I could have wished for and I am—” An aching tightness constricts Gabe’s throat, and he has to take a breath to steady his voice. “I am so proud of you. I know I haven’t been a father to you in any sense except the one, but it wasn’t by my own choice. I have a choice now. We both have a choice now. I want to be your father, Jesse. If you want to be my…my son.”

Gabe had intended to say more, but Jesse’s arms are already around his neck. It’s all he needs. The dam bursts at last and hot, stinging tears fill his eyes and blur his vision. He draws his son into his arms and holds him tightly.

“I love you, mijo,” he breathes, covering the boy’s unruly mop of dark-brown hair with kisses. “I love you so much. You have no idea.”

Jesse just nods and pushes his face into Gabe’s chest, sobbing like a child and soaking the front of his tattered jacket. Gabe holds him that way for a long time, rocking him gently and letting him cry himself out. His mind is wandering, thinking of nothing in particular, when Jesse pulls away abruptly and stares up at him, pale and wide-eyed.

“What was that?” he demands. Why you doin’ that?”

“What was what?” Gabe asks, startled by the sudden change in Jesse’s demeanor.

“You was singin’ a song.”

“Was I? I’m sorry. Jack tells me I do that sometimes. Start singing to myself without realizing it.”

“Why was you singin’ that song? How do you know it?”

“I don’t even know what song it was,” Gabe says apologetically. “Was it something you know?”

“Don’t fuck with me,” Jesse says sharply. “How do you know that song? The lullabye my mama sang to me when I was little. The only one she ever sang, besides church songs.”

“Jesse, lullabyes are pretty universally known. I don’t think it’s—”

“Not this one ain’t. No one here knows it. It’s South African. It’s the song of the star that—”

“—that guides fathers home at night time.” Gabe says, finishing Jesse’s sentence.

Goosebumps prickle up over his skin. Is it possible that it’s a coincidence? He dismisses this foolish thought. He knows well enough by now that are no coincidences.

“How do you know it?” Jesse says, growing increasingly agitated.

“A friend taught it to me a long time ago. His auntie used to sing it to him when he was child. She took him and raised him after—”

“—after his ma and pa died,” Jesse breaks in. “She raised him like he was her own after his folks died and she taught him the song and all about God and how wise he made the animals. His name was—”

“Noah,” they both say unison.

Gabe sits frozen to the spot, unable to comprehend what this could mean.

“Jesse, how—how can you possibly know about Noah?” he asks hoarsely.

“The only person from her past my ma ever told me about was a man named Noah. He come from South Africa and worked with her pa on a farm or somethin’ and him and my ma was friends. He taught her that song you was singin’. I’m guessin’ he’s the same one as taught you.”

“It…it can’t be,” Gabe says in disbelief. “But it has to be.”

“It can’t be no one else. How the fuck you know my mama’s friend?”

“He was…he was my friend, too. He died. A long time ago. Years and years before the war.”

“No he didn’t,” Jesse says, shaking his head. “That ain’t true.”

“It is true.”

“It ain’t,” Jesse says flatly.

Gabe’s hands are trembling now. “Yes it is, Jesse. I was there. I saw him die with my own eyes. He saved my life.”

“It ain’t the same man, then. You can’t have seen the Noah my mama knew die before the war.”

“Why?” Gabe says, irritated by the boy’s persistence in this bizarre error. “What do you mean I can’t?”

“I mean you just can’t. The war was already goin’ on when I was born. He can’t have died before it started ‘cause I met him.”

 

 

 

“Hey, Jack. It’s been a long time, son.”

Jack’s spine instinctively straightens in his chair as he hears the old, familiar voice, still full of presence and command after all these years.

“Colonel Lawrence,” he says respectfully. “Thank you for making time to speak with me, sir.”

The old Colonel lets out a laugh as rough and craggy as pyroclastic rocks. “That’s enough of that, now. I’m not gonna be called ‘sir’ by one of my own boys. Especially now you’re the most powerful man in the world.”

“I—I think that must be exaggerating it a little,” Jack says. His eyes dart over to Zenyatta, but the Omnic is gazing placidly out the window, as if he is entirely oblivious to the conversation.

“So,” the Colonel says, getting right to business as always. “You found out about one of Angie’s little miracles.”

“Angie’s little miracles?”

“Yep. That’s what me and Aleksei called ‘em. Sounded better than ‘breeding experiments’, I guess. She let me know when she found him. I probably should’ve got in touch with you and Gabriel and let you know about him, but she said she wanted to tell you herself.”

“That’s ok, Colonel,” Jack says. “It wasn’t your responsibility. But, when you say _one_ of her little miracles…”

“Glad to see you’re still as sharp as a bag of hammers, Jackie boy,” Lawrence says, a sly grin audible in his voice. “I mean there was more than one, yeah.”

“How—how many more?”

“I can’t rightly say. There were three I know of for sure, but I reckon she didn’t stop there. It ain’t like a scientist to quit before she’s got a sufficient data sample.”

“Who were the three, sir?”

“No more of that ‘sir’ business now, I told you,” the Colonel admonishes good-humoredly. “I’ll get to thinkin’ I’m the boss again. Yeah, three I know of for sure. Evelyn was the first. Then there was Evelyn’s boy—that’s Jesse—and another one, six or seven years later.”

“Anything you can tell me about the other?”

“Not much, I’m sorry to say. If I had to put money on it, though, I’d say it was likely Gabriel’s too, seein’ as his first got a little…misplaced.”

“Jesus,” Jack says, rubbing his forehead. “You think Gabe has another kid out there somewhere?”

“It’s possible, but don’t take my word for it. I don’t know nothin’ for sure.”

“You seem to know all about Evelyn and Jesse, though,” Jack says. “If you don’t mind me asking, why is it different with the other?”

“Well, Angie wasn’t in a sharin’ kinda mood after Evelyn ran off with the boy. Things changed between us after that.”

“Changed?”

“Yeah.”

The Colonel pauses and Jack can hear him lighting what must be one of his customary cigars. He smiles as a wave of tender affection for the old man washes over him. He can see him vividly in his mind’s eye, reclining in an easy chair, puffing away like a chimney, green eyes still keen and bright as ever beneath what must be a mane of white hair by now.

“Listen, Jack,” he says, lowering his voice seriously. “Angie ain’t as cut out of diamonds as she seems. She lost her daughter and her grandbaby at the same time. She had no other family in the world, not since her ma passed when she was a kid. She might not show it, but that hit her real hard. She spent years lookin’ for that boy, even after Aleksei told her he’d exhausted his intel resources and it was a lost cause.”

“You mean looking for the boy and her daughter, right?”

“Naw, I mean lookin’ for the boy. She said Evelyn made her own decisions and could do what she wanted, so long as the baby come back safe. They didn’t have a good relationship from the start, and she never forgave her for takin’ him away.” He sighs. “And I guess she never forgave me either.”

“You, Colonel?” Jack says. “Why you?”

“Evelyn was Angie’s kid but…she was mine, too.”

“Evelyn was your daughter?” Jack says, astonished. “How can that—”

“Now I know I don’t gotta explain to you how all that works at your age, son,” the Colonel says. “She needed the DNA of a suitable male to supply the rest of the code. I was the most suitable one she knew of, so she asked for mine. Only I don’t think she counted on how much the girl would take after me.”

“You knew her well, then? Evelyn?”

“Sure did. Boy, she was a little firebrand, too. Just as smart and pretty as her mama, but with a heathy dose of my bullheaded stubbornness and talent for getting into trouble. I can’t say as I was too bowled over when I heard she took off with the kid. Angie should’ve known that was comin’ one time or another.”

“What do you mean?”

“Evvie was always doin’ things like that. Her and her mama would get into it pretty bad and she’d call me cryin’ and sayin’ she was gonna run away. Most times I could talk her down by promisin’ she could come visit me soon, but she got wise to that pretty quick and one day, she called my bluff. Showed up at my door with her little pink suitcase and announced she was movin’ in. Said since I was her daddy, I was legally obligated to take her. I ain’t sure how she got that idea in her head, or how a little thirteen-year-old gal got herself on an international flight from Lausanne to Virginia, but she did it.”

“Wow. What did you do?”

“I let her mama know where she was and that she was alright, and we offered to look after her for a while. Angie hemmed and hawed about it, but I knew she was more than happy to have the girl off her hands for a spell. She stayed with Aleksei and me for two years.”

“Two years?”

“Yep. We were already layin’ the groundwork for the HEA program by then and Angie was plannin’ to come to Virginia herself to run the medical side. There was no point in sendin’ Evvie back to Switzerland to start high school just to make her leave in a year after she made friends and all that. Plus, we really liked havin’ her around the place. You shoulda seen Aleksei with that girl. That sneaky fuckin’ Russian was hidin’ a soft spot a mile wide under all that ice and steel. He did all the girl maintenance and things I don’t understand, like shopping for clothes and whatnot.”

“Commander Andreev went clothes shopping with a teenaged girl?” Jack says, bursting into merry laughter at the thought of the austere old KGB officer waiting outside a fitting room with an armful of dresses and blouses.

“Oh, he more than went with her, he made her go,” the Colonel says, joining him in the laugh. “Evvie hated fancy clothes and makeup and just about anything she considered girly. She would’ve worn my old BDUs if Aleksei let her. But he made an absolute doll of her. I come home one day and he was helpin’ her decide which shoes went with her outfit. I told him, ‘Lex, I’ve been sleepin’ with you for decades and this is the gayest thing I ever saw you do.’ He acted like he was just doin’ it for her sake, but he loved every minute of it.”

“Holy shit,” Jack breathes. “I’m cataloguing that mental image for when I need cheering up. So, how did it go, her living with the two of you?”

“Well, we put her in the best private high school in the state. Halfway through her first year, her mama arrived and she went to live with her. Angie decided Evvie was just bein’ held back by the other students and should test out of high school, but Aleksei and me didn’t want her to miss out on bein’ a kid and makin’ friends. So, after a big debate about it, we compromised and let her finish in two years, instead of leavin’. Evvie said that was fine with her ‘cause she didn’t want to be friends with high-school children anyway. Said me and uncle Alex and Noah was all the friends she needed.”

At the mention of that name, Jack’s stomach nearly drops into his shoes. He takes a moment to steady his voice. “She…she knew Noah?”

“She did,” the Colonel says cheerfully, either failing to notice Jack’s altered tone, or letting it pass without comment. “Whenever he wasn’t out on a job, the two of them was pretty much inseparable. Angie didn’t like it one bit, either. They had a couple nasty arguments about it, so Evvie started lyin’ to her about how she was spendin’ her time. None of us three knew that’s what was goin’ on at first, though. As unreasonable as Angie can be, I wouldn’t have knowingly let her daughter deceive her. So when I found out, I told Noah he better stay away awhile. I sent him off to supervise some field agents in Africa, but Evvie knew it was on account of her ma. She didn’t talk to me for two weeks, she was so mad.”

“Why was Angela so opposed to Evelyn and Noah being friends?”

“She was just flat-out opposed to Noah. You remember how she was about him. She never trusted him after he come back to us the way he did. Said he was a machine pretending to be a person who we’d all loved and it made her sick to look at him, let alone think of her teenaged daughter fallin’ in love with a thing like he was.”

“Evelyn was in love with Noah?”

“Naw, it wasn’t like that,” the Colonel says softly. “She loved him the way a sister loves a brother. She needed someone as smart as she was to talk to. It was good for him, too, bein’ around someone who only knew him they way he was now, and didn’t have the past hangin’ all over ‘em, colorin’ the way they felt about him like the rest of us did.”

“They were close, then?”

“Oh, they was thick as thieves. He told her all about his past and what he’d been. That’s when she got interested in religion. She loved the stories about his tannie Themba and her unshakeable faith in god. She started askin’ me about religion. I told her I never really stuck with one, but my mama had a been a deeply devout woman. She asked what religion and I told her Baptist. She said she thought she’d like to be a Baptist, too. So I took her in my study and gave her my mama’s bible. I said, ‘This was your grandmother’s bible and since it already has your name in it, I think it rightly belongs to you.’ She opened it up and read the inscription out loud. ‘Presented to Miss Evelyn Harper on the day of her baptism. In Christian love, the Reverend and Mrs. Jesse McCree.’ Then she gave me a big old hug and run right off to start readin’ it.”

“So that’s where the name came from,” Jack says. “She named her son after the pastor who gave her grandmother her bible.”

“Looks that way. Would’ve helped if we’d figured it out years ago. Maybe we would’ve found him sooner.”

“Angela said she had no idea where Evelyn had got the name McCree.”

“I doubt she ever cracked the cover of that bible. Evvie had it with her all the time until she took off. I thought it was strange, her leavin’ the bible like that after she loved it and carried it around all those years, but I had a lot of other things to deal with at that particular time, so it just slipped to the back of my mind.”

“You think she left it as a clue?”

“Maybe. Or maybe just a last fuck you to her mama.”

“How so?”

“She said in her note that if Angie wanted to understand her, she’d find all the wisdom she needed in the word of god. I think she done it to prove how stubborn Angie was. That she’d look everywhere for answers except in the bible she left.”

“Jesus.”

“And all the prophets.”

“But wait, if Jesse’s full name was right under your noses the whole time, why didn’t you or Commander Andreev make the connection?”

“He wasn’t called Jesse then. Evelyn had chosen to use my last name, so when he was born, he was legally named Gabriel Aleksei Lawrence.”

“Holy shit, Jesse’s real name is Gabriel?”

“Legally, I guess it is. Though I don’t know if you should start callin’ him that. I expect he’s probably pretty attached to the name his mama gave him by now.”

“Of course,” Jack says, missing the joke entirely. “I wouldn’t expect him to start going by a different name now. It might help us if we could get a copy of his birth certificate, though. In case there are ever any legal questions. Gabe has quite an extensive family fortune Jesse will be entitled to inherit.”

“Angie’s got all his records. Jesse’s also in line to inherit her family fortune, if that day ever comes.”

“You’re right. I didn’t even think about that.”

“I’m sure she’s thought about it. Between her and Gabriel, Jesse could potentially wind up one of the richest men alive.”

“That can’t be true,” Jack says, with a nervous laugh. “I mean…how rich can Gabe be?”

“You never knew much about your husband’s money, did you.”

“Nothing, really. I mean, I knew he’d been the sole heir to his parents’ estate and that they were wealthy, but he never talked about it and I never asked. We had a joint checking account where our salaries were deposited and we always had everything we needed, so it just…didn’t seem important.”

“He never made you aware of his intentions, in case he passed?”

“I—I don’t know. No, wait. I remember, now. Some lawyers came to our house and confused me with a lot of legal talk about the Reyes estate and me being the beneficiary of such and such assets and properties, and they gave me a bunch of papers to sign. I didn’t understand any of it, but Gabe said it was all ok, and he just wanted to make sure no one else could try to claim any of his family’s money if anything happened to him. So, I signed them and it never came up again.”

“You’re a good man, Jack,” the Colonel says. “Most men who married as rich as you did would’ve jumped at the chance to find out what they were gettin’ out of the deal.”

“I—well, thank you, Colonel. But I wasn’t trying to be good, or anything. I really never cared about Gabe’s money.”

“I know. You always loved Gabriel for all the right reasons and none of the wrong ones. He did well, makin’ you his husband.”

“Thank you, sir. I hope so.”

“Listen, son, it’s been good talkin’ to you, but I hear a nice long nap callin’ my name. Anything else you wanted to ask before I go?”

“Actually, there is one thing. It isn’t extremely important, but I’ve always been curious about the way Jesse talks. His accent and speech mannerisms aren’t native to New Mexico and I couldn’t fathom where he picked them up. But since we’ve been talking, it’s occurred to me how much he sounds like you.”

“I’d bet Evvie was the source of that,” the Colonel says. “After she’d been with us a while, Aleksei said she was picking up my accent and using my turns of phrase. I hadn’t noticed, cause I don’t think about the way I talk as bein’ particular unique. But I started listenin’ and sure enough she was. I thought it was the cutest thing, plus it annoyed Aleksei and her mother to no end, so have to admit I encouraged it. I gave her all my old Louis L’Amour novels and Mark Twain’s books and we watched about a thousand western movies together. She must’ve incorporated all that into her cover identity while she was off with the boy.”

“So, you’re the reason Jesse talks like a cross between Huck Finn and John Wayne,” Jack laughs. “It all makes sense now.”

“He must be quite the charmer, then. I can’t wait to meet him. I ain’t seen him since he was a squirmy little pink runt wrapped up in a blanket.”

“He’s certainly not little anymore. He passed six feet before he turned eighteen.”

“Figures Gabriel’s boy would be a big strong one,” the Colonel says, sounding eminently pleased. “I hope he got some of his mama’s good looks, too.”

“He did. Jesse is a very handsome young man. A little too handsome for his own good, actually. He gets away with a lot of things that would get any other man slapped. Or court-martialed.”

“That a fact?” the Colonel says, with another hearty laugh. “Well, I’m glad to hear he’s carryin’ on the family traditions. I’d hate to see all these good genes go to waste. Speakin’ of which, how’s he gettin’ along with his daddy?”

“Well…the thing is, Jesse’s been out on an assignment in Japan and Angela just told Gabe a week or so ago. So, we haven’t exactly told him yet.”

“Ah. I see,” the Colonel says. He pauses and Jack can hear him puffing thoughtfully on the cigar again. “I wonder why she waited so long to tell you.”

“I don’t know. I never know why she does anything she does.”

“I always told you that y’all can’t be a unified team if everyone’s hidin’ things and no one trusts each other. And like it or not, the four of you are family, now, too. You gotta start talkin’ to each other, Jack.”

“I understand that, Colonel, but it’s not as simple as it sounds. We’ve got a complicated history with Angela.”

“No one knows that better than me, son. But listen, as secretive and defensive as Angie can be, she’s your friend. She’s been lookin’ out for you and devoting her life to your interests for decades. She cares about you and Gabriel more than anything in the world. I guarantee you she just wants to feel like you care about her, too.”

“I do care about Angela, but how would you suggest I go about letting her know it?” Jack says uneasily. “I’m really bad at that kind of thing.”

“Try talkin’ to her a little. Instead of just comin’ to her when you need something, try and take an interest in her life. Ask her how she’s doin’ sometimes. Be her friend. It’ll go a long way.”

Jack takes a deep breath. “Ok. I’ll try talking to her. Like…like a friend.”

“Well, don’t hurt yourself, son,” the Colonel laughs. “Listen, Angie may be a hundred-plus-year-old essentially-immortal superhuman, but she’s still a human. She’s got her own thoughts and feelings and things that motivate and drive her. Try thinkin’ about who she really is, not just what she is in relation to how it affects you.”

Jack sighs. “Christ. You’re right, Colonel. I’ve been thinking of her like some sort of…force of nature for so long. I don’t know if I’ve ever tried to relate to her as a human being.”

“Well, now you’ve got an assignment, if you’ll excuse my pullin’ rank one last time,” the Colonel says in a jocular tone. “You spend some time makin’ an effort to get to know Angie. Don’t interrogate her about Jesse or her other experiments. Just talk to her like a person. I bet she’ll open up to you on her own.”

“I will,” Jack says. “Thank you, Colonel.”

“And I’ll expect you to report in to me about your progress when y’all come for my other grandbaby’s birthday in June.”

Jack laughs. “Yes, sir. I’ll make a full report.”

“Good man. I’m gonna go get my nap now, but I hope you won’t be a stranger. There’s a lot of experience behind these grey hairs and I might still have some wisdom kickin’ around my dusty old head. Call me up if you ever want an earful of it.”

“I will, Colonel. And thank you again for making time to talk with me. It’s been a real pleasure to hear your voice again.”

“Yours too, Jackie boy. Yours too. Bye now.”

“I’ll talk to you soon, sir. Goodbye.”

As Jack replaces the receiver in its cradle on his desk, Zenyatta glides up and hovers quietly beside him.

Jack looks up at him and smiles. “It’s ok, Master Zenyatta. I don’t think I’ll have a problem this time. Thank you for coming.”

“I am happy to be of service, Commander,” the Omnic says smoothly. “If you are feeling well, however, may I remain for a moment? There is a matter on which I would wish to confer with you.”

“Sure,” Jack says. “What is it?”

 

 


	84. Sunday School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, my dear, beloved readers. I know I have not updated in an extraordinarily long time, but I had very good reasons which I decline to explain. Just know that I am back, and hopefully I will not be making you wait so long for updates anymore. I appreciate everyone who has stuck with me this long, and I do genuinely hope you continue to enjoy my little story. Thank you! 
> 
>  
> 
> _______

“I don’t know how that’s possible,” Gabe says. “How can it be possible?”

“Well, it ain’t helpin’ anything sittin’ here askin’ each other,” Jesse replies, a little more testily than he’d intended. The emotional and physical exhaustion of the long, eventful day are beginning to tell on him. “I mean, I reckon it ain’t as mysterious as it looks, if we just stop and work through the details the right way.”

“Jesse, I don’t think this is the time to dive into something like this,” Gabe says, as the boy attempts to suppress a yawn. “Right now, I need to make sure you and I are ok. Are you ok with this? With…with me?”

Jesse stretches out his long legs and takes a deep, meditative breath, consciously compelling his detective’s mind to drop the interesting problem and come back to the current situation.

“I think so, yeah,” he says. “So…I guess I’m a Mexican, then.”

“Yeah, I guess you are,”  Gabe laughs. “Half, anyway.”

“I always figured I was,” Jesse says, lifting up his hands to examine them. “I’m all browns and tans, but mama was as blue and white as Jack.”

“I assumed you were, too. You’re almost as dark as me. You, uh…you actually look a lot like me.”

Jesse gives an exaggerated toss of his shaggy, chestnut hair. “Come on now, boss. I’m much handsomer than you.”

“Pendejo,” Gabe says, ruffling the boy’s hair affectionately. “I know you are. And you speak better Spanish, too.”

“Yeah, but that ain’t hard,” Jesse grins. “Yours is awful.”

“It’s not… _that_ awful.”

“It ain’t the worst I ever heard. But when you come to me with that dumb bullshit about bein’ from Mexico City and I could hear L.A. drippin’ all off your voice like blueberry syrup, I damn near laughed in your face, _Señor Rojas_. You was lucky none of them other Deadlocks could tell a vowel from a consonant if their lives was on the hook for it.”

“Apparently they couldn’t tell a bunch of Overwatch agents from a gun cartel, either.”

“Maybe. Hacksaw mighta figured you out. He wadn’t ever too sure about you. Only he…he trusted my judgment.”

“I thought you had nothing to do with getting us in.”

“I didn’t. All’s I did was keep my mouth shut. He knew I’d tell him if I smelled somethin’ funny and I ain’t said nothin’, so the deal went ahead.”

“You were basically his right-hand man at that point, weren’t you? I always wondered why the leader of the Deadlocks put you in a position like that at your age.”

“I reckon it was on account of I was a damn sight smarter’n everyone else. Smart enough not to let ‘em know it, too. But Hacksaw wadn’t a fool. He paid attention to what I did instead of how I talked. I think he figured he’d be better off keepin’ me close.” Jesse knocks the ash from his cigarette and gazes at the glowing ember. “Tell you the truth, he had a kinda soft spot for me, too. His own kid got killed in a raid when he was about my age. I think he had a notion to put me in his place. Groom me to take over one day.”

“What makes you say that?”

“He let on he just wanted kind of a secretary to keep his mundane shit in order, but he was really teachin’ me how to run things. Started askin’ my opinions and actually listenin’ and makin’ the gang do what I said. He brung me to every meeting and give me access to pretty much everything the gang had goin’ on. Wadn’t no one knew all the shit I knew. He even told me where he hid his own private caches of money and weapons and how to get into ‘em in case he got killed.”

“Sounds like he genuinely trusted you.”

“Yeah,” Jesse says grimly. “It was his last mistake.”

“I’m sorry, Jesse. I didn’t realize how close you were with him. It must have been difficult for you to…to—”

“Sell him out? Don’t go gettin’ sentimental about Hacksaw, boss. He was a bad man. I seen him shoot unarmed civilians in cold blood. I even seen him beat up a woman once. I can’t abide that kinda thing. Whatever I done, I never been downright dishonorable. Not that way. Even when I shot them train marshals, they was pointin’ guns at me, too.”

“You’re still carrying around a lot of guilt over it, though. You have to forgive yourself for things you did to survive when you had no other choice.”

“I don’t know. I—I don’t want to talk about that, boss,” Jesse says, snuffing his cigarette in the gravel. “Wadn’t we talkin’ about your terrible Spanish?”

“We were,” Gabe says, aware of Jesse’s sudden agitation and smoothly switching tracks for his benefit. “And my family spoke Spanish as the primary language at home, so it’s pretty inexcusable.”

Jesse smiles and visibly relaxes. “Why ain’t you more fluent, then?”

“Youthful rebellion and plain stupidity,” Gabe says, with a sigh. “Traditions were really important to my father. He insisted we respect our heritage and one of the ways to do that was to maintain our native language. But he also sent us to public school. He didn’t want us growing up with a bunch of other rich kids and taking our status for granted. Unfortunately, at school, other children seemed to think that my Mexican heritage was nothing to be proud of. I got called a wetback and a fence jumper by white kids whose families were brand new to the US, compared to mine. But I didn’t understand any of that and I just wanted to fit in. I took my Mexican heritage as something that made me an outsider. I stopped speaking Spanish except when my parents made me, and basically ignored the things my father tried to teach me. After I lost my family, though, those traditions were the only thing that made me feel like I was still connected to them. So, I had my tutors help me re-learn my Spanish and I started studying our family’s history in real earnest.”

“What’d you find out?”

“My father’s family comes from the old Hidalgo lines that settled in California before it was a US territory.”

“Shit,” Jesse says, raising his eyebrows. “They was real-ass Californians, then.”

“As real as they come. They’d been establishing ranches and building missions all over California for generations. They stuck around through the gold rush and made some good decisions, and got very wealthy. There’s still a lot of land out there with the Reyes name on it.”

Jesse lights a fresh cigarette and hands it to Gabe, then lights another for himself. “What kinda land?”

“In the old days it was mostly ranches and mines, but I don’t really know, now. My lawyers and business people take care of all that. I’m not especially interested in where the money comes from.”

“You ain’t interested in where it goes?”

“I support a bunch of charities. I care about those,” Gabe shrugs. “But I don’t concern myself much with where the rest of it goes, no. I get quarterly statements and once in a while there’s a big decision that requires my signature, but otherwise, I don’t get involved.”

“Why not?”

“I’m a soldier, not a businessman. I’m not nearly as qualified as the people who manage it for me. They’re the best at what they do and I trust them to do it. A lot of fortunes were wrecked in the Crisis, but it barely dented mine.”

“That a fact?” Jesse says musingly, “They must be the best, then. Even the Shimada empire took a huge hit from the war. Almost bankrupted ‘em. I wonder how they insulated your assets from the market crash.”

“Well, if you’re interested, I could let you look at the statements,” Gabe says. “You’ve got every right to want to know about it.”

“Oh, no, I—I didn’t mean that,” Jesse stammers, suddenly aware of what he must have appeared to be suggesting. “I been neck-deep in accounting and business shit with this job, so my brain’s got itself wired for that kinda thing.”

“It’s ok, Jesse,” Gabe laughs. “I don’t think you’re going to try to off me to get a hold of the family money or anything.”

“Well, that depends,” Jesse says, cocking an eyebrow. “How much we talkin’?”

“A lot. Too much for me and Jack and you and all the potential Reyes grandchildren to spend in all our lifetimes.”

“Shit, boss. If you’da told me you was that rich, I woulda asked for a raise.”

“I’d probably have given it to you, too. But Overwatch pays your salary, not me. So, no dice. Sorry, mijo.”

“I reckon I’ll muddle along alright. I ain’t got much to spend money on anyhow, so I been kinda savin’ mine up by default. I got a good chunk now. Maybe I’ll buy me a house in Japan.”

Gabe feels a cold knot begin to form in his stomach at the idea, but he keeps his tone light. “Hanamura is a beautiful place. You like it here, huh?”

“It’s real nice bein’ by the ocean, and the flowers and trees is pretty and all that. But, uh…it ain’t the scenery I like.”

“I know. Have you two talked?”

“Naw. I was fixin’ to go see him but somethin’ came up.”

“Yeah, I don’t know why I asked.”

“Maybe you still fuzzy from gettin’ all shot up like that,” Jesse says, eyeing Gabe up and down. “I know that’s the only reason I got that suckerpunch in on you, by the way.”

“How do you know that?”

“I been workin’ with you for three years. You think I ain’t seen the way you move?”

“Fair enough.” Gabe pauses. “So, how did you find out that I was, you know…”

“My daddy?” Jesse grins.

“Yeah. No one knew but me and Jack and Angela.”

Gabe, still overwhelmed by the events of the evening, is unconscious of the fact that he has just revealed the source of the Deadlock job to Jesse’s vigilant ear. Jesse, however, is keenly aware of it, but he makes no sign.

“Genji told me,” he says, exhaling a lazy plume of smoke into the air.

Gabe frowns. “Genji? How the fuck did Genji know?”

“He said their doc told him.”

“That makes sense, then,” Gabe says. “Sojiro asked me about you—if I trusted you and all that—and I explained it to him. He must’ve told Dr. Inoue.”

“Maybe,” Jesse shrugs. “Or maybe our intel ain’t as secure as we think.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean the Master don’t strike me as the talkative type. Genji said whoever put the doc up to sellin’ you out also told him if they couldn’t get you, they’d take me and make you come after me. Way I figure, they musta known about me already. If so, that means we got somethin’ a damn sight bigger’n this deal to worry about. Like maybe a big fat leak needs pluggin’.”

“It’d have to be at a pretty high level,” Gabe says doubtfully. “But it might be wise to prepare for some pest control when we get back.”

“I reckon so,” Jesse says, failing to suppress another deep yawn. His phone chirps and buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out to examine the message and grins. “Commander Morrison says, ‘It’s been hours since anyone has updated me on the situation there. I assume you’re all dead and I’m starting the paperwork for shutting down Blackwatch.’ I guess we better report in.”

“I’ll call him,” Gabe says, smiling at Jack’s singular manner of expressing his concern. “You’d better go and get some sleep. You’ve had a pretty fucking busy day.”

“Yeah, that’s a way to put it,” Jesse says, as Gabe stands and helps him to his feet. “What you gonna do?”

“I’m going down to the security center to get my phone. I still need to review Dr. Inoue’s interrogation, too.”

“Well, don’t kill yourself workin’ all night. You look like you could use a rest, too.”

“You know what they say. No rest for the wicked. Get Claudia to look at that hand first thing in the morning, ok?”

“I will. And…thanks, boss.”

“For what?”

“For not hittin’ me back. I like my face with all its parts where they are.”

“I do, too,” Gabe laughs. “I may need to find you if anything comes up. You going to your own room?”

“Nope.”

“I figured. Don’t stay up all night.”

Jesse smirks. “You tellin’ me that as my boss or my dad?”

“Both, you mouthy little fuck. Goodnight, Jesse.”

“Night, jefe.”

Gabe watches Jesse stroll away down the garden path until he’s out of view. Then he turns and walks briskly toward the Seiden, bound for the security center.

 

Jesse approaches the boys’ hall to find the door flanked by guards. He knows most of them by name at this point, and they have been briefed on his privileged position in the castle, so he isn’t hindered. They simply open the door for him and bow as he passes inside. There are two more posted in the main room, and one at Genji’s door.

“Hey, Shinya,” Jesse says, keeping his voice low. “Is Genji in there?”

“Yes, Jesse,” the man replies in an equally hushed tone. “But the Young Master is with him at the moment. He has requested that you await him in his chamber, and I am to send a servant with refreshment for you, if you are hungry.”

“Oh, alright,” Jesse says, feeling a more than a bit awkward about being so casually sent to his lover’s bedroom by a household retainer. He wonders if his interactions with Hanzo have been as clandestine as he thinks. “I am pretty hungry. Thanks, Shinya.”

The man bows and Jesse walks quietly through the main hall to Hanzo’s room. He sits down on the bed and in a few minutes, there is a soft knock at the door. Servants enter bearing trays with silver covers. They deposit these on the low table near the center of the room, then bow and depart. Jesse is bone-tired and ravenously hungry, and the savory aromas coming from the table rapidly dispel any other thought from his mind. He opens the covers and sets to with an admirable appetite, devouring most of what the servants have brought before it occurs to him that this food may have been intended for two. He decides that it can’t be helped, finishes whatever delicious thing this is—some kind of fish and vegetable thing with rice wrapped around it—and then sips at a tall, frosty bottle of beer.

He nurses the beverage for as long as he can make it last, but nearly an hour has passed and Hanzo still hasn’t appeared. He isn’t sure what else to do, so he goes into the private restroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, then he lies down on Hanzo’s bed—just to rest his eyes, as he tells himself—till the boy comes back. Lulled by the soft comfort of the bed and Hanzo’s enticing scent lingering on the pillows, he slides easily into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Some time later, he wakes gradually, as if he is surfacing from deep water, and slowly becomes aware that Hanzo is sitting beside him, stroking his hair.

“Hey, Hanzo,” he says, rubbing his eyes groggily. “Sorry I was sleepin’ in your bed. They told me to wait for you here and I musta drifted off.”

“I am glad that you are here,” Hanzo says, smiling down at him. “You may sleep in my bed any time that you like. What happened to your hand?”

“Oh, it’s nothin’,” Jesse says through a yawn. “My fist had a little disagreement with the boss’s face.”

Hanzo’s eyes widen in surprise. “You struck your Commander? Why?”

“It’s a long story. Don’t worry about it, though. Everything’s square between him and me now.”

“You Americans have strange customs,” Hanzo says, inspecting the makeshift bandage on Jesse’s hand. “Are you in pain?”

“I’ll be ok. Claudia’ll fix me up in the mornin’.”

Hanzo looks doubtful, but does not pursue the subject. “Allow me help you undress, at least. You should not sleep in your clothes.”

“You want me to stay?”

“I do. If you would like to stay with me, that is.”

“I would like it, darlin’. But…” Jesse hesitates. There is a matter he and Hanzo need to discuss before they are intimate again. He begins to sit up. “But I think we should talk about—”

“Hush,” Hanzo says, laying a finger gently on Jesse’s lips. “We can talk tomorrow. I have had…a very full day. Tonight, I wish only to lie down with you and not to speak of anything else.”

Jesse’s will is immediately and entirely overborne by Hanzo’s intoxicating presence. He submits to being undressed, then lies there gazing up at the beautiful boy as he unties his black kimono and lets it slide off his shoulders onto the floor. Hanzo’s body is flawless and graceful, but deceptively powerful. Lithe and muscular like a jungle cat. He sits down beside Jesse and unbraids his hair, loosing it from its plait and letting it cascade down his bare back.

Jesse reaches up and runs his fingers through it, then slowly traces a line down the curve of Hanzo’s spine. His skin feels like liquid silk under Jesse’s rough, calloused hand. Hanzo shivers and laughs softly, then slides beneath the covers into Jesse’s waiting arms. His hair falls around Jesse’s face like a velvet curtain as they kiss with the zealous impatience of new lovers. He pushes against him with his hips, supplying Jesse’s painfully rigid cock with just enough friction to tantalize him, then pulling coyly away.

“Fuck, darlin’,” Jesse breathes. “I think I’m fixin’ to die I want you so bad.”

Hanzo laughs again. “You will not die, cowboy.”

“I will, I swear. I’ll be six feet under by the time the sun comes up. Here lies Jesse McCree, done in by the wicked boy who teased him till he dropped dead.”

“You are very ridiculous tonight,” the wicked boy in question replies. He nips at Jesse’s earlobe with his teeth.

“I’m—ah! I’m ridiculous every night. You like it.”

“It is true. I like it when you are ridiculous and when you are…less ridiculous. I like you, Jesse McCree.”

“Do you?”

“You know I do,” Hanzo purrs, pressing his lips into the nook behind Jesse’s ear. “You are only pretending not to know it so that I will say it.”

“I ain’t, though,” Jesse says, almost plaintively. “Do you really like me, Hanzo?”

Hanzo draws away. “What is the matter, Jesse? Do you doubt my sincerity?”

“It ain’t that I doubt you, darlin,” Jesse says, trying not to squirm under Hanzo’s searching gaze. “Only I…I guess I can’t figure why, is all.”

“You cannot understand why I like you?”

“That’s what I was gettin’ at, yeah.”

Hanzo looks curiously into his face for a long moment. “Is it possible that you are truly so unaware of yourself?”

“What—uh…what do you mean?”

“Jesse, you are beautiful,” Hanzo almost blurts out, then he quickly lowers his eyes, embarrassed by his lapse in self-control. “What I mean is that I—I have never met anyone like you. You are…fascinating to me. Why do you doubt my regard for you?”

Jesse pauses, clearing his throat to buy himself a second. This is a much more difficult subject to approach than he had anticipated, and he finds his customary facility with words has deserted him.

“It’s just…it’s like you’re too good to be true, you know?” He says fumblingly. “I know I’m easy on the eyes and all that, but I’m really nothin’ special. If we’re bein’ honest…I ain’t good enough for you.”

“But you are,” Hanzo insists, sitting up and pushing his hair back from his face. “You are pleasing to look at, yes, but that was not my reason for…I mean that if I simply wished for a lover, there are many other…I—I have not…”

He makes an exasperated gesture and breaks off, equally at a loss to clearly express his thoughts. Seeing the usually flawlessly-composed Young Master so flustered is unendurably charming to Jesse, who almost laughs outright, but manages to limit himself to a grin.

“I mean to say that I like you because you are a good man,” Hanzo says gravely, not seeming to notice Jesse’s merriment. “You are honest and strong-minded and self-reliant. You are everything that I am not and that I would wish to be.”

“You wanna be like me?” Jesse asks, now utterly bewildered. This is not at all what he had expected to hear. “But…you’re perfect.”

“There are many things you do not know about me, Jesse. I am far from perfect.”

“How do you mean, darlin’? What things?”

“I am afraid that I have not been forthright with you, concerning myself,” Hanzo says. “When this arrangement between your organization and my clan is finalized, you will certainly come to know. I would tell you myself, rather than have you hear of it from other sources.”

“I reckon that’s fair,” Jesse says uncertainly. Hanzo’s strange phrasing has thrown him off balance. Is this how someone confesses to lying about having had previous lovers? And if so, why would the deal between Overwatch and the Shimadas have anything to do with Jesse finding out?

Hanzo splays out his palms on his lap, gazing into them as if he is reading something there, as Jesse had seen him do that night when they first kissed. He takes a deep breath and looks as if he is preparing himself for a dive.

“There is blood on my hands,” he says, after a long pause. “A river of blood. I am a killer, Jesse. The most skilled and deadly assassin in my father’s service, in fact. I have killed many, many men.”

Jesse is unable to think of an appropriate response to this confession, which is not the one he had prepared himself for, so he just nods and then sits there blinking dumbly, waiting for Hanzo to continue.

“Jesse, I have told you that I am an assassin and that I have killed many men,” Hanzo says, a touch of frustration tightening his smooth voice. “Does this not disturb you?”

Jesse leans back and chews his lip thoughtfully. “I mean…it matters to me ‘cause it’s a part of who you are and all that. But I don’t reckon I’m disturbed about it, no.”

Hanzo frowns. “Why not?”

“Well, I killed a lot a people, too, for one.”

“You have?”

“Yep. I wadn’t always a lawman, darlin’. I wadn’t even a law-abidin’ man. When I was a Deadlock, that was just the way things was done. I killed six men by the time I was seventeen.”

“Oh,” Hanzo says, somewhat quelled by this. “That is not so many.”

Jesse shrugs. “Seemed like a lot to me, but it wadn’t my trade, so it might not add up the same for you. But I ain’t disturbed to hear you an assassin mostly on account of I already knew.”

Hanzo is momentarily taken aback, but recovers quickly and shakes his head. “You cannot have known it, Jesse. No one knows.”

“Sweetheart, I keep tellin’ you I’m a professional spy and I’m real good at what I do,” Jesse says patiently. “I busted my ass on this case ‘fore I come out here. There ain’t a lot I _don’t_ know about you.”

“Really?” Hanzo asks, raising an eyebrow. He crosses his arms as if in challenge. “Tell me, then. What do you know about me?”

Jesse, however, is more than equal to the occasion.

“I know you your daddy’s best killer,” he says. “And I know most other folks don’t know it, cause you wear a mask and you go by the name of Ryuu when you workin’. I know you got at least twenty kills I can pin on you for sure, maybe more.”

He looks questioningly at Hanzo, who nods tranquilly. Thus encouraged, he moves on to the heavier artillery.

“I also know y’all claim you nineteen years old, but you really only eighteen. And I know Genji’s supposed to be seventeen, but he’s eighteen, too. That means either y’all are twins, or you didn’t have the same mama.” He pauses, seeing the stricken look on Hanzo’s face. “I’m sorry, darlin’. This is upsettin’ you.”

“No, it is…it is a relief to me,” Hanzo says, smoothing his black hair with a trembling hand. “To find that there is not so much I must confess to you. Please continue.”

“Ok, well, y’all definitely ain’t twins. So I figure in order to maintain Genji’s claim to legitimacy, y’all’s pa fudged your ages to make the difference reckon out. He musta told you and Genji about it, ‘cause he’d want Genji’s consent for delayin’ his comin’ of age by a year, and he’d want you to agree to accept yours early, cause it would mean workin’ twice as hard gettin’ studied up on clan politics and all that mess so’s you’d be prepared. I get any of that in the ballpark?”

“Yes. You are…exactly correct.”

“There’s one other thing,” Jesse says, with increasing energy. “And it’s a big one. The boss don’t know I figured it out, but there’s a reason he was keepin’ a file on y’all’s clan before I got a hold of it and started workin’ out the business bit. See, way back when, the group that was gonna be Overwatch but wadn’t yet, they was goin’ around the world recruitin’ folks with special skills and like… _abilities_ and whatnot. Y’all’s pa, Shimada Sojiro, was one of them folks. Only he ain’t joined up on account of the clan wouldn’t have it.”

Hanzo’s already pale face goes ashen. He listens, lips parted in astonishment, as Jesse goes on.

“The reason they wanted him so bad was that he could do somethin’ fuckin’ incredible. I mean, I just about laughed my ass off when I first read about it, but them reports was dead serious. You know what I’m talkin’ about, don’t you.”

Hanzo sits gazing silently at Jesse, debating internally whether to attempt some denial, or to dive in headlong and trust this strange young American with all of his most closely-guarded secrets.

“I do know what you are talking about,” he says at last. “He…he could summon the spectral forms of the ancestral dragons of the Shimada Clan and command them to consume his enemies.”

“That’s right,” Jesse says, with a keen glint in his eye. “And I think you can do it, too. That’s what that tattoo means, don’t it.”

“Yes. That is what it means.”

Jesse positively beams, unable to contain his excitement any longer. “I knew it! Boy howdy, I bet that’s somethin’ to see! I hope I get to. Only I hope it ain’t from the wrong end, if you know what I mean.”

“It is something to see, yes,” Hanzo says, laughing in spite of himself. “But you need not fear for your safety. I would not allow them to harm you.”

“I never seen any kinda dragon, spectral or no,” Jesse says, as Hanzo begins to push him gently backward onto the bed. “I always thought they was just fairytale nonsense. Do they spit out fire and everything? How big are they? Like real big like a airplane?”

“They manifest in different sizes depending upon the purpose for which I have summoned them,” Hanzo says. He straddles Jesse’s lap and gazes down at him as he lies there blithely chattering on.

“How do you summon ‘em? Do you gotta do some kinda spell or somethin’? Can you just call ‘em up any old time, or is there special rules? See, I figured it was kinda like—”

“Jesse.”

“Hm?”

“Please stop talking.”

“Oh, oops,” Jesse says with a sheepish grin. “I was gettin’ carried away and runnin’ my mouth, wasn’t I. My mama always told me if I’d try not to talk so much and just listen to other folks sometimes—”

“Jesse, please. There is something else that I must tell you.”

“Sorry, darlin’. I’m shuttin’ up now, I promise. It’s just when I get real excited about somethin’ it’s hard to make my brain stop and—”

“Jesse, I love you.”

Jesse’s voice dies in his throat. He stares at Hanzo, unable to speak, as all the blood in his body seems to rush to his head at once.

“I am in love with you,” Hanzo says quietly. He turns away to hide his face in his long, black hair. “I thought perhaps you would…want to know it.”

The next instant, he is flat on his back, being covered in enthusiastic kisses.

“You thought I might wanna know it, did you,” Jesse laughs, nuzzling his face like an affectionate retriever. “Of course I want to know it. It’s all I ever want to know ever again.”

“Jesse, what are you doing,” Hanzo demands, trying to sound displeased. “This is absurd.”

He makes a token effort to push him away, but Jesse has got his arms firmly around him.

“Nope. You ain’t goin’ nowhere, darlin’,” Jesse croons. “I got you now.”

He leans in and plants a kiss on the tip of Hanzo’s nose, as if to punctuate his argument.

Hanzo sighs. “You are…so ridiculous.”

“Yeah, you said that before. But you love me, so I guess you don’t really mind.”

“No, I do not mind,” Hanzo says, combing his fingers through Jesse’s mop of unruly brown hair. “So long as you behave yourself when others are present.”

“I’ll behave myself, I swear. I’ll be so good you’ll think I’m sittin’ in the front row at Sunday school.”

“What is Sunday school?”

“Sunday school’s a thing church folks invented so’s they wouldn’t have to mind the young’uns while they tryina listen to the preacher talk about how everyone’s gonna burn in hell.”

Hanzo wrinkles his nose. “That sounds very unpleasant.”

“It ain’t that bad cause you get graham crackers and apple juice and there’s coloring books with the animals on the ark watchin’ the sinners drownin’ in the flood and things. Hey, Hanzo?”

“Yes, Jesse?”

“Do you really love me?”

“I do.”

“That works out real nice, then,” Jesse says, gazing down into those deep, grey-black eyes. “Cause…I love you.”

Hanzo smiles up at him. “I know.”

 

 

In the security center, a vast network of concrete-walled rooms beneath Shimada Castle, Gabe finds the stout, burly chief of Shimada security expecting him. He introduces himself as Captain Tanaka and shows Gabe to a locked room where his belongings have been stored. Gabe takes his phone and computer, along with a fresh pack of cigarettes, and follows Captain Tanaka back to the control room, where he listens as the man briefly describes the measures that are being taken to enhance security at the castle and to better safeguard the Master and his family, as well as his honored guests.

Gabe wants to review the footage of Dr. Inoue’s interrogation immediately. If there’s anything useful to be learned from it, he can’t afford to waste time. He wavers for a moment, but decides he’d better call Jack first. The Commander has to briefed (not to mention, he’s probably pretty worried about his husband). Captain Tanaka brings up the interview file for him and then steps politely away as Gabe places his call. The phone rings once before Jack picks up.

“Gabe. What the fuck. It’s been four hours since Jesse’s last report.”

“Hey, Jack. I know you’re overcome with emotion at hearing that I’m ok, but please try to control yourself,” Gabe says sardonically. “We’re conducting a professional military operation here.”

“Oh, is that how it is?” Jack fires back. “Ok then, Commander Reyes. Why haven’t any of my professional soldiers felt it necessary to brief their fucking commander on the progress of this professional military operation?”

“I apologize, Commander. That was due to an incident which I have no choice but to report to you.” Gabe pauses dramatically. “I was assaulted by a junior officer who struck me in the face with a closed fist and used abusive language in reference to myself and the Overwatch Commander. I believe his exact words were, ‘Fuck you and Jack and everyone else and this whole fucking thing.’”

“Holy shit, you told him?” Jack says, instantly dropping the game. “He hit you? Is he ok? What else did he say?”

“Commander, I just told you my junior officer assaulted _me_. Shouldn’t you be asking how I’m—”

“Oh shut it, Gabe. Is Jesse alright?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure the little shit broke a couple of knuckles, but otherwise, he’s as alright as he can be. We had a long talk. I don’t want to go into the gruesome details but…”

“But what?”

“Jack…there was hugging.”

“Dear god, hugging? And yet you live?”

“I survived somehow. I may need some extra leave to recover from it, though.”

“We’ll see about that. But you two are ok, then?”

“Yeah, I think we are. He knows he’s my son and all he did was punch me in the face, so I’d say it went much better than I had hoped. I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

“Good. I’m so glad to hear it. How’d everything go with the other thing?”

“The other thing where my agent and I were kidnapped by a group of armed terrorists and I not only managed to rescue her and escape, but also neutralize all the hostiles? That thing?”

“Yeah, that.”

“Claudia didn’t get hurt. That was my primary focus. I’m fine, obviously. Actually…I have a feeling I was never in too much real danger.”

“What do you mean?”

“Whoever did this had a way to effectively incapacitate me, but they didn’t bother to share it with their soldiers. The bugs they used here at the castle knocked me thoroughly on my ass, but the device the men tried on me in the car was a joke. They gave me a few shocks, but my body adapted to it right away. I think if they really wanted to kill me or take me, they’d have given their men the right equipment. Or they would have sent in a heavy.”

“A heavy?”

“Someone who could handle me. Maybe a nanite-enhanced assassin, like Germain Doisneau.”

“But didn’t he just malfunction or whatever as soon as your nanites came in contact with his? That would suggest that their tech isn’t very stable. Not enough to contend with you, at least.”

“He wasn’t meant for me, though. I’m pretty sure he was assigned to Gérard and just got ahead of himself going for a higher-value target. But I think if they don’t already have an assassin who could handle me, they will soon. This whole thing felt…off. It almost felt like a test. Or a demonstration. Like I was performing for someone else’s benefit.”

“That’s an extremely disturbing idea. That would imply that they’ve got some way to observe you. Not to mention, it would mean they were willing to sacrifice their own men just to see you in action.”

“They’ve done it before. At the Paris bureau.”

“That was different. They attacked the bureau to get at Gérard.”

“Was it? Think about it, Jack. We assumed they were after Gérard, because of the incident with Germain, but that doesn’t make sense. For a single assassination, it was way overkill. But for an earnest assault on an Overwatch facility, it was laughably underkill.”

“I don’t think ‘underkill’ is a word, Gabe.”

“You know what I mean, baby. So, what if their real objective was to observe a single target—meaning Angela—in action? And those men were all mercs, just like the ones here. To a group like Talon, they’d be…”

“Expendable,” Jack says, finishing his thought. “Jesus. That’s monstrous.”

“If I’m right. It’s just a theory. I could be way off-base, here.”

“Maybe, but you’re not usually wrong about this kind of thing. We should talk about it with Angela when you get back.”

“Agreed. Anything else for the moment? The Security Chief is waiting for me to review the tape of Dr. Inoue’s interrogation.”

“You’re not going to question him yourself?”

“Right, we haven’t updated you yet. While we were in transit back to Shimada HQ, he was questioned and then confined to his room, where he apparently chose to commit an honorable suicide.”

“Apparently?”

“That’s what I was told. I’m inclined to take Sojiro at his word, but even if I didn’t buy it, I’m not about to risk all of this by interfering in how the Shimadas handle their internal disputes.”

“Fair enough. Let me know what you find out,” Jack says briskly. Then he adds in a softer tone, “I am glad you’re ok, Gabe. I know you think you’re invincible, but I still worry about you. It fucking kills me when you put yourself in danger.”

“I know, baby,” Gabe says. “I’m sorry. I hate making you worry, but you know it’s just the nature of the job. We’ve been doing this a long time.”

“Too long,” Jack sighs. “I’ll talk to you in a little while. Love you.”

“I love you, too. Bye.”

Gabe puts his phone away and turns his attention to the holovid screen, where the recording of Dr. Inoue’s interrogation is ready for him to view. He is pleased to find that Captain Tanaka, who conducts the questioning himself, treats Dr. Inoue with a great deal of respect throughout. The old doctor seems like an honorable enough man. He answers each question carefully and fully, and there is no observable malice or deception about him. Still, the interrogation yields little more than Gabe had expected. The doctor had been contacted by agents representing what they called a “private scientific concern.” He had been given documentation to review, which seemed to prove that their treatment method could be effective. He had not been allowed to retain these documents, of course, but whatever he saw in them had apparently been enough to convince him to agree to this insane scheme.

There is one thing that stands out, however. The agents of the organization never identified it by name to Dr. Inoue, but the doctor seems to have said that they referred to it as “the tip of the spear.” He isn’t one-hundred percent certain he’s got the translation correct, but if he has, this is the same thing Germain had said shortly before he died, when Gabe had first heard the name Talon. He calls Captain Tanaka over to review that portion of the tape and ask his opinion on the translation. The Captain confirms that this is, in fact, what the doctor has said they told him. “We are the tip of the spear.”

Gabe hadn’t really been harboring much doubt about where the plot originated, but this is concrete confirmation. He thanks Captain Tanaka for his help and asks him to send the footage to Blackwatch intel. This done, the Chief gives him a door card so that he won’t have to wait for a guard when he wants access to the security center, then he heads upstairs to check on Claudia and report to Jack on the interview.

Claudia has remained in the same room, since it has been scoured by Shimada intel people and proclaimed safe. As such, Gabe’s path takes him past the room he’d been in before. The doors are wide open and the lights are on. He walks toward it, intending to poke his head in and see what they’ve done by way of searching. As he approaches, however, he feels something so bizarre that he’d have thought he was losing his mind, but for the fact that he has experienced it before. It is a physical tug on his body. Like a magnetic pull from an unknown source. His nanites are forcefully resisting entry to the room.

On the few occasions they’ve made themselves felt, this has been the way they have done it. No verbal communication or well-defined warning. Just a raw, instinctive feeling. The animals are afraid. They remember that in this place, there had been a thing that hurt them and made them confused. Disrupted the systems they carefully orchestrate and left them alone and steerless in the dark. He stops and they let go as immediately as they had taken hold. He takes another step. Another tug. Just as firm and unmistakable. They don’t want to go in there.

He smiles ruefully. He doesn’t know how to explain to them that this place is no longer dangerous, so he peers in the door from where he stands, a few feet away. The wall panels have all been removed and stacked outside against the front of the building. The tatami mats have been rolled up and piled in the hallway near the bathroom, and there is some scanning equipment on the bare bamboo floor.

Unaware, as usual, that he is doing it, he begins to sing softly to himself—an absentminded habit of many years. He’s singing Noah’s song, which is at the top of his mind because of his talk with Jesse. It has an immediate, palpable effect on the nanites. They are less afraid. More willing to cooperate. He isn’t sure how he knows this is what’s happening. He simply _knows_. He takes another step toward the door. This time, they allow it. He keeps singing the song and walks all the way into the room unhindered.

He stands there for a moment, breathless with exhilaration. He can’t quite believe it. Noah had said he used this song to soothe the animals and learn to talk to them when he first became aware of them. Could it really be that simple? Even if he can’t talk to them, if he can learn to get them to calm down and cooperate, that alone would be a giant leap forward. He thinks with a cold shudder about the black vapor that harvested resources from those men in the aftermath of the gunfight. If he can stop them doing that again, that will be enough. A chirp from his phone pulls him out of his reverie.

“Hey, baby. I was just about to call you,” he says, stepping back out into the early-morning twilight. “It was definitely Talon who put Dr. Inoue up to all this. Yep. Nothing particularly useful. He didn’t know much, either. Oh, she did? Good. I won’t bother her, then. She’ll want to get some sleep. No, I don’t know anything about her. Just that she’s some acquaintance of Angela’s or something. What was that sound you just made? Oh. Christ. Spell it for me? Great, that’s even more confusing, somehow. I’ll just call her ‘doctor’. That’ll be safer. What? Come on, Jack, I’m not a child. Of course I won’t. I’ll _try_ not to, at least. Ok. I’ll get a hold of you as soon as we know anything. Love you, too.”


	85. Doctor O

“Dr. O’Deorain,” Claudia says, stepping forward to shake the doctor’s hand. “I’m Claudia Oberkampf. Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“My pleasure. I’m always happy to drop everything and fly halfway around the world at a moment’s notice,” the doctor replies, in her posh Dublin brogue. She laughs, seeing Claudia’s troubled expression. “That was a joke, my dear. And please, call me Moira.”

The doctor in question is a tall, slender woman who looks to be around thirty or so, and who is almost entirely unlike anyone Claudia has ever seen. Tall and slender doesn’t even begin to describe her. She is very tall and very thin—almost gaunt, even—and her clothing seems intended to display this, rather than conceal it. She is dressed in what Claudia would have called a man’s suit, but for the fact that it has obviously been tailored to fit as closely as possible to every angle of her long, lean body. The result is that she looks like a sort of human scalpel. Sharp, precise, and thoroughly professional.

Her trousers are black, as is her vest, under which she wears a dark purple dress-shirt with french cuffs and a thin, black tie. This color combination, in contrast with her waxen complexion and her short, impeccably-groomed, and almost sarcastically red hair, produces a dramatic visual effect. The most striking thing about her appearance, however, is her very pronounced case of ocular heterochromia. Her right iris is a rich, amber-brown color, but her left iris is a stunning pale blue.

“Oh, I—of course, Moira,” Claudia says, laughing nervously. “I hope your flight was…pleasant.”

“Ha! Like hell it was,” the doctor replies affably, as they weave through the bustle of the busy Osaka airport. “You know how those damned airplanes are. Always cramped and stale and of course someone’s brought six or seven cryin’ babies to liven things up.”

“They really should have a separate section for parents with small children. This is us.”

Claudia indicates to the black limousine waiting on the curb. A Shimada retainer bows and opens the door, and another takes Dr. O’Deorain’s luggage.

“All of Air India’s antigrav jets have private compartments now, but somehow the people with little ones never seem to take advantage of them.” she says, as they climb in. “We’re not going all the way to Shizuoka by ground are we?”

“Oh, no, of course not,” Claudia says. “We’re just taking the car downtown. We can’t fly the TAAV through commercial airspace without letting all of Japan know we’re here, so we’re riding in a Shimada helicopter. It’s waiting on the helipad at the Sakura building.”

“Must be nice to have private helicopter parking,” the doctor says, removing an odd little oblong device from her lapel pocket. “And a private helicopter. Do you mind if I…?”

“Not at all,” Claudia says genially. “What—what is it?”

“It’s a nicotine vaporizer.”

“Oh, interesting. I’ve never seen one like it.”

“You wouldn’t have. It’s my own design. Go ahead and have a look.”

Claudia takes the little black cartridge in her hand and turns it over, inspecting the sleek casing and gold valve. “Wow. This is…really cool. You designed this?”

“I did,” the doctor says, as Claudia hands it back. “But you haven’t seen the really cool part yet.”

She places the valve to her lips and draws on it, exhaling a stream of lilac-hued vapor. The device whirs softly. An LED on the end glows purple, and a little aperture opens and vacuums almost all of the vapor back into itself.

“Holy shit!” Claudia exclaims, genuinely delighted. “It recycles its own vapor, then?”

“Exactly. I find it’s more economical this way, not to mention a deal more polite, since it cleans up after itself.”

“That’s genius. I wonder if I could convince the Commander to use one of those. I really wish he’d stop smoking.”

“Well, we’ve all got our vices,” the doctor says smoothly. “In my experience, there’s no stopping people when they’re determined to do themselves a mischief. Especially when _they_ happen to be a man.”

“I’ll say,” Claudia laughs. She is beginning to think she is going to like this doctor. “He’s a particularly stubborn man, too.”

“So I gather. If your Commander is who I think he is.”

“That reminds me,” Claudia says, drawing out her phone and tapping the screen a few times. She holds it out for the doctor to take. “There are a bunch of legal and international security issues at play here, so our organization’s attorneys have insisted that you sign a confidentiality agreement before I tell you anything. I’m not even allowed to say the boss’s name till you do, actually.”

“Perfectly understandable,” the doctor says, taking the phone. “Thumbscan signature, I assume?”

Claudia nods. The doctor skims through the document, then removes a black glove and presses her thumb to the screen. Claudia can’t help but notice a spider web of deep, inkvine scars covering the majority of her hand. As a physician, however, she is well-practiced in the art of not displaying any reaction to people’s medical oddities, and she makes no sign.

“There we are,” Doctor O’Deorain smiles. “I’m all nice and legally bound. So, am I correct to assume that your Commander is Gabriel Reyes?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“I don’t suppose it’ll do any good to ask what exactly Overwatch is doing helping a Yakuza crime boss with his medical problems.”

“I’m afraid not. That’s way above my pay-grade. I apologize for all the mystery, but it’s the way we have to do things. Covert ops and all.”

“No need to apologize, my dear. I’m just happy to have the job. The truth is, I don’t have many paying clients these days and I need any work I can get. My research is my first love, but unfortunately, it doesn’t fund itself.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Claudia says, with a sympathetic frown. “When Dr. Ziegler recommended you, she said you were at Oasis University.”

“I was,” the doctor replies, puffing at her inhaler. “I published a paper that got into a…sticky area of genetic engineering. It ruffled some of the wrong feathers and I was summarily tossed out on my arse. Dr. Ziegler was kind enough to write a letter to the board defending my work. They were kind enough to ignore it and leave me to swing in the wind.”

“How do you know Dr. Ziegler, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I don’t, really. I never met her in person, that is. She undertook to defend my paper on its merits alone, which I consider to be the highest praise it could’ve gotten, and I wrote to thank her. I only wish more people had her brains. The world would be better for it.”

“I agree,” Claudia enthuses. “Dr. Ziegler is absolutely brilliant. She’s the reason I became a doctor.”

“The most brilliant scientific mind of her generation,” Dr. O’Deorain says. “It must be quite grand working with her.”

Claudia almost thinks she detects a subtle barb in the phrase “of her generation.” She glances at the doctor, who is smiling placidly. She must have been mistaken.

“Oh, it is,” she says, masking her momentary confusion by pretending to check the time. They are just pulling up to the Sakura building. “Look at that, we’re already here.”

The Shimada retainers carry the doctor’s luggage and the two women make their way up to the helicopter, where they strap into their seats and chat as pleasantly as possible through the comms system for the remainder of the journey.

“Shimada Castle,” the doctor says in an awed tone, as the aircraft banks down through the brilliant blue sky toward the massive, tree-lined complex. “It’s even more beautiful than they say.”

“It’s pretty amazing, even from up here,” Claudia agrees. “But wait till you see the inside. I’ve been staying there for almost a week and I still can’t believe it.”

As they are disembarking on the helipad, Claudia sees Jesse and Hanzo approaching across the wooden footbridge from the courtyard.

The doctor follows her gaze in that direction. “Who are they? The teenaged cowboy and the porcelain doll.” 

“That’s Special Agent McCree, he’s part of my team, and Shimada Hanzo, the Master’s son.”

“Well, aren’t we gorgeous. Tell me there’s an actual adult in charge, here, though.”

“Aside from me, you mean?” Claudia grins. “Commander Reyes is in charge. He’s around here somewhere.”

“Your Commander is here in person,” the doctor says, arching a pristine eyebrow. “Curiouser and curiouser…”

“Yeah, he’s here. I wonder why he didn’t come out to meet us. Hey, Jesse!”

The tall, broad-shouldered cowboy flashes a white-toothed smile and tips his hat. “Afternoon, ladies.”

“Hanzo, Jesse,” Claudia says, “this is Dr. O’Deorain. Moira, this is Shimada Hanzo and Agent McCree.”

“Charmed,” the doctor says, shaking Jesse’s hand. She bows properly to Hanzo. “Shimada Hanzo. It’s an honor to meet you.”

Hanzo returns the formal salute with his accustomed stately grace. “Dr. O’Deorain. Thank you for agreeing to attend to my father. His condition has troubled us greatly, of late.”

“I only hope I can be of some help to him. When will he be ready to see me?”

“Commander Reyes wishes to meet with you first,” Hanzo says, dipping his chin. “He acts as my father’s advisor in this emergency.”

“Indeed,” the doctor says, casting a significant glance at Claudia. “Well, I suppose I’d better not keep him waiting.”

“If you will accompany me, I will take you to him now. Dr. Oberkampf, Jesse, if you will excuse us.”

Jesse and Claudia bow, and the doctor and the Young Master stride away across the courtyard.

As they vanish around a corner, Jesse’s lip curls, as if he has tasted something acrid. “Hey, Claws, what’d you think of that doctor? She give you the willies, too?”

“What?” Claudia laughs. “You’re not serious, are you?”

“Serious as a Presbyterian.”

“You just met her. What’s your problem with her?”

“I don’t know yet,” Jesse says, scratching the scruff on his chin. “Somethin’ about her don’t smell right, though.”

“I think you might just be overreacting because she’s a little…eccentric.”

“Sure, if ‘a little eccentric’ is a fancy way of sayin’ real fuckin’ creepy.”

“Come on, Jesse. She’s here to help. You should at least give her a chance.”

“I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt, but I got a pretty good instinct for people. My hackles is all up like they ain’t been in a long while.”

Claudia laughs again. “Your hackles, huh? You need your tummy scratched, buddy?”

“I don’t know, darlin’,” Jesse says, his scowl dissolving into a mischievous grin. “Couldn’t hurt to give it a try.”

“Don’t you flirt with me, young man,” Claudia retorts. “I’ll knock you flat on your ass right here. Or I’ll just tell your boyfriend, and he will.”

“Nah, he ain’t jealous. Plus, he knows you’d never fall for my nonsense anyhow.”

Jesse hooks her arm into his and they stroll along together beneath the delicate blossoms of the sakura trees.

“You think Hanzo isn’t jealous?” Claudia asks.

“Course he ain’t. I ain’t jealous, so why would he be?”

“That is not how it works, Jesse. Hanzo isn’t like you. He’s had a very different life.”

“Well, I know that. But why would that matter?”

“How do I explain it,” Claudia says, chewing her lip thoughtfully. “Like…ok, how about this. If he had sex with someone else tomorrow, how would you feel about it?”

Jesse throws his head back and laughs aloud. “Sorry, Claws, but it ain’t possible. Hanzo just ain’t wired that way.”

“Exactly. But do you think he’d have the same reaction to that question? Would he be able to dismiss the idea of you sleeping with someone else as absurd?”

“Oh. Shit.” Jesse stops in his tracks as his mind conjures a collage of vivid images, including one of his video chat with Ben, the night before he met Hanzo. “But…I love him like crazy. I don’t wanna be with no one else ever again. He’s gotta know that, right?”

“I’m sure he knows it,” Claudia says, patting his arm reassuringly. “I’m just saying he might not feel as…secure as you do.”

“I guess I never thought about it that way. What do I do to make him feel secure?”

“I don’t think there’s anything you can do except keep showing him that you love him and you’re all his. It takes time to build that kind of trust in a relationship.”

Jesse’s heart sinks. Time is one thing they do not have. As the date of the team’s departure from Japan draws nearer, it’s getting harder to ignore the fact that he and Hanzo are going to have to have a very difficult conversation very soon. But he smiles cheerfully.

“I’ll remember that. I’m goin’ over to the boys’ hall to see Genji. You wanna come?”

“I really need to get something to eat while I have a chance. I’ll probably have a lot of work to do today assisting Dr. O’Deorain. Tell Genji I said hi, though, and I’ll see you guys later, ok?”

“Sure thing,” Jesse says. “Later, Claws.”

Claudia smiles as she watches her friend amble away. She’s not sure when the nickname “Claws” started. From anyone else, she’d have found it extremely distasteful, but Jesse is so sweet and earnest and unsophisticated, she can’t help but enjoy it. She is disappointed that he doesn’t like Dr. O’Deorain, but he’ll probably come around. Especially if she can help Hanzo’s father.

 

 

“Not even close,” Dr. O’Deorain says, with a laughing twinkle in her eye. “High marks for effort, though.”

“Yeah, I knew I’d fuck it up,” Gabe says apologetically. “The only question was how badly.”

“I don’t fault you for it. Most Yanks have trouble with name. I find it’s easier for everyone concerned if I just go by Moira. Doctor O, if you’re not into the first-names thing.”

“Moira it is. Though I like ‘Doctor O,’ too. It makes you sound like a James Bond villain.”

“Ooh, I hadn’t considered that. Perhaps Doctor O will be my alter-ego when I finally decide to embrace a life of bombastic monologuing and failing to kill MI-6 agents.”

Gabe laughs. “See, now you have a solid fallback plan. That’s just thinking ahead.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. But, what say we get down to brass tacks, Commander Reyes.”

“Just Gabriel, please.”

“Gabriel,” Moira says, smiling cordially. “So, who exactly am I working for, Gabriel?”

“Officially, you’re being contracted by a company called Sakura Logistics and Supply to provide medical services to its staff. In reality, your only patient will be Shimada Sojiro, the Master of the Shimada Clan. Regarding the involvement of my organization or any of its personnel…we are not here. Hence the document Claudia had you sign.”

“May I ask what it is you are not doing here? Or is that top-secrety type stuff.”

“It’s top-secrety type stuff. It probably won’t be too hard for you to work it out on your own, but as long as I never told you, my ass is covered.”

“Ass-coverage is important.”

“Agreed. I believe Claudia has briefed you regarding the Master’s condition?”

“She has.”

“Excellent. Before you see him, I’d like us to talk for a few minutes, if you don’t mind.”

“Nothing would please me more. What about?”

“Dr. Ziegler recommended you, but I’d like to get a better idea who you are and what makes you particularly qualified to deal with this case. All she told us was that you had done some groundbreaking work in methods of treating neuromuscular disorders.”

“I believe it was groundbreaking, though most of that ground was under my own feet. You should be aware that the publication of my research led directly to my being dismissed from my post at Oasis University.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know how conversant you are with medical ethics, but my work, as it turned out, was considered to be skirting the line as far as rewriting human genetic information. My methods altered the germline, as opposed to somatic cells only. Meaning the modifications I introduced had the potential to become hereditary. That is a big ethical no-no.”

Gabe’s brow furrows as he listens. This all sounds familiar somehow, but he can’t exactly pinpoint where he’d have heard it. Something about crossing the Weismann barrier. But he doesn’t know what that is, or even…then it dawns on him. He is recalling a conversation from decades ago, the day Angela gave them the first dose of the treatment that led to all of this. The vaccine she had given them before that, the one that had made them so sick, it was intended to prevent this exact thing from happening.

Moira pauses, seeing his altered expression. “I hope this doesn’t change your mind about letting me try to help your friend.”

“Hm? No, it’s not that. I was…lost in thought. You’ll have to excuse me. It’s just something that happens at my age.”

“Oh, yes, you’re positively ancient,” she chuckles. “What are you, forty? Forty-two?”

“Uh…somewhere around there,” he says noncommittally. “Go on, though. I interrupted.”

“You didn’t, but I will. In addition to that objection, my work was discredited because other geneticists were unable to replicate my results. Of course, they attributed that to error or fraud on my part, rather than their own incompetence, and it was used as evidence against me.”

“But if other scientists couldn’t validate your results, what makes you so certain you were right?”

“I know my methods work, Gabriel,” she says, with a fiery intensity rising into her bicolored eyes. “I am literally walking proof of it.”

“How do you mean?”

“Are you at all familiar with Dejerine–Sottas syndrome?”

Gabe shakes his head.

“Not many people are. I, however, am intimately acquainted with it. Dejerine–Sottas syndrome—progressive hypertrophic interstitial polyneuropathy, for short—is a hereditary, incurable neurological disorder. The symptoms include all sorts of amusing things like weakness and loss of sensation in the lower legs, forearms, feet, and hands; loss of muscle mass, pain in the limbs, curvature of the spine, clawed hands, foot deformities, and so forth. It begins in infancy and progresses slowly until puberty, when it accelerates rapidly.”

She pauses and steeples her long, black-gloved fingers, as if to center herself. When she speaks again, she keeps her eyes focused on the table in front of her.

“Before I was twelve years old, I had to walk with a cane, like a little old lady. By fifteen, I was entirely confined to a wheelchair. The muscles in my legs wasted away to nothing and I was in constant pain. I couldn’t remember what it was like to _not_ be in pain. By sheer force of will and the determination to find a way to beat this horrid thing, I made it through university with a degree in bioengineering. My graduate research seemed promising, and I was offered a position at Oasis to continue it. I obeyed the rules and tried to be patient, but when my arms and hands began to betray me, too, I knew I had to do something extreme. So, I used my anger at the pain and the senseless cruelty of it all to spur me on.

I spent countless, agonizing hours in the labs. I worked like the devil was at my heels. Eventually, I believed I had succeeded. I knew my solution would alter the germline, but I didn’t care. There was no other way. Of course, because of that, no scientific organization in the world would allow me to test my method on a human being. So, I did what I thought a real scientist would do. What the pioneers in the age of heroic medicine had done. I tested it on myself. My results were so astonishing, that my colleagues were dubious at first, then elated. They insisted that I publish my work and I agreed. I believed that for the good of humanity, I had a responsibility to let the scientific world know what I had discovered. I’ve been duly punished for that bit of philanthropy, but I don’t regret it. One day, people will see that I was right. That sometimes the risks are far outweighed by the benefits.”

Gabe sits silent for a moment, absorbing and processing everything she has told him. Her methods may be radical and unorthodox, but he finds he rather likes her “damn the torpedoes” approach to medical science. Her passion, at least, is undeniable. And the level of confidence in her work she must have had to test it on herself first is nothing short of staggering. But confidence and self-delusion are different things.

He fixes her with his keen dark-brown eyes. “Tell me, Moira, can you cure Sojiro?”

“I can’t give you a guarantee like that,” she says, meeting and holding his gaze. “But I do believe I’ve got a better shot at it than anyone else has. And I will try harder than anyone else.”

Gabe nods slowly. “Good. That’s what I was hoping to hear.”

He takes a tablet and a small, black case from the chair beside him and sets them on the table.

“These are Sojiro’s charts from his former family physician, along with Claudia’s notes from the few days she’s attended him in the interim,” he says, handing her the tablet.

“What happened to his family physician?”

“Dr. Inoue passed away unexpectedly, several days ago.”

“Passed away? How?”

“Heart failure. Apparently, he was suffering from coronary artery disease.”

“A Japanese physician suffering from coronary artery disease,” she says musingly. “That’s a bit unusual, isn’t it?”

“I have no idea. I’m not even remotely qualified to have an opinion on his case. You can talk to Claudia about it, if you have a concern, though.”

“No, no, I’m sure she’s done her job quite thoroughly. I only asked the cause of death from force of habit. It’s always the first step, to rule out any possibility of transmissible pathogens.”

“Of course,” Gabe says. “There’s also this.”

He opens the black case and turns it around so she can examine its contents.

“What is it?” she asks, eyeing the twelve identical syringes curiously.

“I’m hoping you can tell me that. This was given to Sojiro by…an interested party. It was touted as a cure for his condition, but as it came from a dubious source, he wisely refused to use it. He intended to destroy it, in fact. I persuaded him to allow me to take it to be analyzed instead, in case it actually contains something dangerous that we should be aware of.”

“I’d be more than happy to look into it,” she says. “But if it came from a dubious source, as you put it, every precaution will have to be taken against potential exposure to whatever is in those syringes. Is there a place on site where a temporary quarantine lab can be set up?”

“I’ve already got the Shimadas’ people working on it. After you see Sojiro, we can go over and have a look, and you can give them a list of anything you require to get it functional. Of course, I’ll compensate you separately for this little detour, since it isn’t part of the job you were originally contracted to do.”

“That’s very generous, thank you.”

“One caveat you should be aware of, though. Anything you discover will be considered the property of my organization and will have to be kept strictly top-secret.”

“Naturally.”

“Alright, then. I think that’s about it. Unless you have any other questions, I’ll take you to see the Master now.”

“I’ve got one question, actually.”

“Go ahead.”

“I know exactly how powerful Overwatch is, Gabriel,” she says, smiling shrewdly. “So, why bother with the dog and pony show of making me sign this and that confidentiality agreement, when I know as well as you do that if you think for an instant that you can’t trust me, I won’t leave here alive.”

Gabe smiles, too. “I think you and I are going to get along, _Doctor O_.”

 

 

Jack takes a step toward the door, reaches out to touch the doorplate, then withdraws his hand and steps back. This is the third or fourth repetition of this strange ritual, and he has begun to attract the amused eye of the nurse at the triage desk a few meters away. He notices her watching and grins sheepishly. She gives him an encouraging thumbs-up. He takes a deep breath, steps forward, and is about to press his thumb to the plate, when the door slides open.

“Jack,” Angela says, eyeing him sternly. “You have been dancing about outside my door for six minutes. Are you attempting to drive me mad, or is there something you need?”

“Oh, hi Angela,” he says. “I, uh…wasn’t sure you were in here.”

“That is odd, since I heard my nurse tell you that I was in my office. Come in.”

She shuts the door as he takes a seat, then she sits and waits politely for him to open his topic. He stares down at his hands, fidgeting with the wristband on his crisp, white shirt. Ninety seconds pass, and she is still waiting, but with decreasing politeness.

“Jack,” she says finally.

He looks up. “Hm?”

“What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to…to ask you something,” he says slowly, clearly struggling with his words.

She smiles tolerantly. “What is it?”

“How…are you?”

“Pardon me?”

“I just wanted to ask how…you know…you’re doing.”

“How am I doing with regard to what, Commander?”

“I just meant, how are you doing in—in general.”

“You want to know how I am doing…in general,” she repeats.

Jack blushes miserably and looks back down at his hands.

“Yeah,” he says. “So…how are you?”

“Jack, darling,” she says patiently. “I cannot imagine what you are playing at, but I am very busy. Would you please tell me why you are really here?”

Her tone is gentle, but her words cut him to the quick. He can’t ask his friend and physician of many decades how she is without mystifying her completely. He knows why. It is because he has never done it before. He collects himself and decides to try a different approach.

“I spoke to Lydia. She called a few days ago.”

“Did she? How lovely. I hope she and Reginald and little Lena are well.”

“They are,” he says, relaxing somewhat, now that he has a means of working around to his point. “She invited us to come for a visit to celebrate Lena’s birthday in June. I…I’d like it if you’d go with us.”

“Certainly.”

“You—wait, what? You will?”

“Of course. Aleksei called to invite me months ago. It would only make sense for the four of us to travel together.”

“Four?”

“You, Gabriel, Jesse, and me,” she laughs. “That does make four, Jack.”

“Oh. Yeah, we’ll…all fly out together, then. Good.”

“What is the matter, Jack? You are behaving strangely today, even for you.”

“I spoke to Colonel Lawrence, too.”

“Ah, I see. How is Thomas?”

“He’s exactly the same as I remember him. He sounds a little older, I suppose, but he’s still just as alert and energetic.”

“That is good to hear. It is unlikely that his mental facilities will decline much, but he is very old now.”

Jack grins. “Not as old as you, though.”

“Not as old as me, no. But he shows it far more, I am afraid. There was only so much my enhancements could do, in those days.”

“You’re Jesse’s grandmother.”

“I am,” Angela says serenely, not in the least affected by Jack’s abrupt assertion. “And Thomas is his grandfather.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I told Gabriel.”

“You didn’t tell him about the Colonel.”

“Why does this matter so much to you, Jack?” she asks gently. “How does Thomas being Jesse’s biological grandfather change anything?”

Jack feels his throat tightening and his eyes beginning to sting, as if he’s going to cry. He can’t fathom why, though. Why _does_ this matter so much to him?

“It doesn’t,” he says sullenly. “I don’t know why I brought it up.”

“Do you think perhaps it is because you are feeling left out by all of this?”

His chest constricts painfully. He shakes his head.

“Jack, you are just as much a part of this family as Jesse is.”

“I’m not,” he says hoarsely. He swallows the lump rising in his throat. “I’m not part of anyone’s family. Jesse is Gabe’s son. Lydia is the Colonel’s daughter. You and the Colonel are the grandparents of Gabe and Lydia’s children. I’m…nothing. No one. I was chosen at random for Andreev’s CQC class and I happened to meet Gabe, and that’s the only reason I was even included.”

“Oh, my dear, sweet boy,” she says, reaching out to lay a hand on his. “That is simply not true.”

“It—yes, it is, Angela. I know it is.”

“How do you know it?”

“Because, if I was—” he breaks off and looks up at her sharply. “What are you saying, exactly?”

“The fact that you and Gabriel fell in love was a happy accident. The fact that you met was not.”

“It wasn’t?”

“Of course not. I was very careful in my selection process for those I wished to enter into the HEA program, which represented a significant portion of my life’s work. I would never leave something so vitally important to chance. The six of you were not only my first choices, but my _only_ choices. Without any one of the others, I would have had to halt the program until another ideal candidate could be found. But without you, Gabriel, and Lydia, I would have had no program in the first place. In fact, it was designed specifically for the three of you.”

Jack sits silent, gazing past her at the wall. He can’t make himself feel anger or even surprise at this revelation. Somehow, it seems to him, he had already known it. He had known it all along.

“I know why Gabe and Lydia, but why me?”

“Let me show you something.”

She turns to her computer and taps on the keyboard, waits for a moment, then rotates the screen so that he can see it.

“What am I looking at?”

“Proof that you were not chosen at random.”

“I don’t understand.”

“These are DNA records from two specific individuals. For reference, here is a third, from a random Overwatch employee. Do you see it now?”

“These two are identical.”

“Not to a trained geneticist’s eye, but they are far more similar to one another than to the third.”

Jack glances at the screen for a second or two, rapidly parsing the information, then looks back at Angela. “This is my DNA and yours.”

She smiles. “Correct. You are so much quicker than other people, it is quite refreshing.”

“You and I are related by blood? How? How closely?”

“Not very closely, but not too distantly. I am your first cousin, twice removed. The daughter of your great grand-aunt on your mother’s side.”

“That’s a lot of removal,” Jack says, leaning in to study the two readouts more closely. “Why is our DNA so similar?”

“A number of factors, but briefly speaking, our family line descends from a genetically isolated population. The recessive traits that you and I share were very strongly expressed, and had a higher than average chance of appearing in subsequent generations.”

He grins. “You mean we’re inbred.”

“Not the way you are making it sound, but in a sense, yes.”

“Is that the reason I’m…the way I am?”

“You are referring to the irregularities in your hippocampus and superior temporal sulcus that make your brain unique.”

“Yeah.”

“Heredity played a large part in that, yes. As I told you a very long time ago, you and I share the same irregularities.”

“I thought you were perfect.”

“Not nearly,” she laughs. “I am only one individual’s idea of perfection. My mother believed these particular idiosyncrasies of the brain to be desirable, rather than disadvantageous.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I have them. I am not an experiment, Jack. I am exactly as my mother intended. The ideal result of her work. Anything expressed in me is the product of careful engineering, not genetic chance.”

“Like Jesse.”

“No, not like Jesse at all. He was not engineered to that extent.”

“But he was engineered.”

“Most potential inherited weaknesses like heart disease, anemia, astigmatism, low metabolism, and so on, were prevented by Evelyn’s superior genetic code. His DNA was only altered to guarantee the suppression of her neurological condition. I did not want to take any chances with Gabriel’s son.”

“Because you loved Gabe’s father.”

“Because I love Gabriel. I love him just as much as if he were my own child, Jack. You do not know how difficult it was for me to think that I would lose him, after three of you had already died—”

“Four.”

This strikes home. Her rosy cheeks drain of color and her hands fly up, as if to shield her eyes.

“Miller, Temple, Yun, and me,” Jack says flatly. “That does make four.”

“Jack, please don’t be cruel,” she says, in a tremulous whisper. “I have begged you to forgive me.”

“I won’t…I won’t be cruel.” The black storm clouds gathering on his brow fade and pass away. “I’m sorry, Angela. I understand why you did what you did, and I have forgiven you. It’s just…so hard, sometimes, to keep living this way.”

“I know. I wish I had been stronger, for your sake.”

“You were strong for Gabe’s sake. That’s all I—” he stops suddenly. “Wait, that means Jesse and I are related, too.”

She looks up at him. “Distantly. Why?”

“Jesus Christ,” he says, bursting into a hearty laugh. “Like it wasn’t bad enough he’s my stepson. Now I find out he’s a blood-relative, too.”

“Oh, don’t be a Puritan, Jack. Your genetic relationship to him is so distant as to be morally irrelevant.”

“If you’re my first cousin, twice removed, that makes him my…”

“Third cousin,” she says, with a little wince. “It suppose it does sound rather bad, when you put it that way. But…at least you know now that you are truly as much a part of this family as Jesse and Gabriel and the rest of us.”

“Yeah,” he smirks. “The most fucked up family imaginable. Thanks.”

“It is not perfect, I will grant you that. But it is the only one we have.”

His ironic smirk melts into a genuine smile. “We do, don’t we. We have each other. We’re a family.”

“We are,” she says, smiling softly. Then she straightens her white coat and smooths her hair into place, resuming her usual, businesslike tone. “Speaking of family matters, if we are going to introduce Jesse to his grandfather and aunt and cousin all at once, we are going to have to properly prepare him. It will not be easy for him to suddenly change from being all alone in the world to being surrounded by close relatives.”

“Well, we’ve taken the first step. Gabe told him.”

“He did? How did Jesse respond? Did Gabriel tell him about his mother and Thomas and I, as well?”

“Ok, hang on. One question at a time. No, I don’t think he told Jesse about anyone but himself. He’d have said so, if he did. Besides, I don’t think Gabe would presume to tell someone else’s secrets that way.”

She nods. “You are right.”

“Jesse is ok. He punched Gabe in the face, which I would have given my entire salary to see, but I guess they talked and things are good. They even hugged.”

“Oh, I am so pleased. This is wonderful news. I was so worried about my poor little Jesse, learning something like that so abruptly. He is still a child, you know.”

“Jesse isn’t nearly so much a child as he seems. He does that naïve, moonfaced act pretty well, but he’s incredibly intelligent and self-possessed. I know firsthand how much more in control he is than he lets other people see.”

“Why do you say that?”

“When we…uh…when that incident occurred between us, Jesse drove the entire thing. I have about four decades and six tiers of rank on him, but he led me around like a dog on a leash.”

Angela arches an eyebrow. “Oh, really? I thought nothing sexual happened between you.”

“Angela!” Jack exclaims, genuinely shocked. “Was that…a joke? Did you, Dr. Angela Ziegler, actually just make a joke?”

“I can be funny, too,” she says, pretending to pout at Jack’s raillery. “I am not always the oracle of doom.”

“Angela…I am so sorry. I’ve treated you so badly for such a long time. I know how much you’ve sacrificed for us, but I’ve never even tried to show you how much I appreciate you. Will you forgive me? And give me a chance to make it up to you?”

“No, Jack, nonsense. You have nothing to make up to me. I do what I do because I want to. I just want to be near you and be a part of your lives. I love you and Gabriel dearly.”

“ Gabe would never say it, but I can certainly speak for him on this point. We love you, too, Angela.”

She blushes prettily and turns away to hide the tears starting in her large, pale-blue eyes. He takes her small, delicate hands in his.

“Really. I mean it. We’re both bad at showing it, but we do love you. Listen, Gabe and I are a couple of old, self-centered assholes and we tend to forget how much of what we have is owing directly to you. But I am going to make a serious effort to change that. I promise.” 

“Thank you, Jack,” she says, brushing away a tear. “It means so much to me to hear you say that.”

As if on cue, Jack’s phone chirps. He takes it out and laughs. “Gabe wants to know why the fuck you aren’t answering your phone. I guess we’ll have to work up to that change gradually.”

 

 


	86. Cú Chulainn

“Gabe. Gabe…” Jack sighs. “Gabe, please stop laughing.”

“I’m—I’m sorry baby,” his husband gasps, then continues to laugh.

“It’s not funny, Gabe! Can you imagine if the press got a hold of something like this? The head of Overwatch had an intimate physical interaction with a subordinate who is also his stepson and by the way is also his cousin. What would people say?”

“…‘I guess he’s a real Indiana farm boy after all’?”

“You fucking—that’s it. I want a divorce.”

“Fine, but,” Gabe pauses, straining to keep his mirth under control, “there’s no way you’re getting custody of our son.”

At this point, he is obliged to hold the phone away from his ear, as Jack replies at a much higher volume and using far more imaginative language than is strictly professional.

There is a pause, then Gabe hears him saying, “No, everything’s ok, Beckett. I’m just talking to Commander Reyes.”

Gabe doesn’t need to see Lt. Beckett to know the exact understanding nod she gives in response. She’s heard them have many such spirited interchanges in Jack’s office over the years. He’s fairly certain she’s heard them fucking in there, too. It’s possible she thinks they were just arguing, but she knows her business and she’d never own to it, either way.

“Tell Beckett I said hi,” he chimes in cheerily.

“She already left. Are you done giggling like a teenaged girl?”

“I do not giggle.”

“You do.”

“Ok, but I giggle in a tough, manly way.”

“Yeah, you’re the toughest and manliest,” Jack says. “How are things going with Dr. O’Deorain?”

“Good. She’s great with Sojiro. He hates being flattered, and she keeps it nice and professional. Deferential without groveling.”

“Any progress?”

“I don’t know yet. She said a bunch of medical words and seemed optimistic, so we’ll have to wait and see.”

“How about that ‘cure’ Dr. Inoue had? She find anything out?”

“Working on it. She got a gas chromatograph for the temp lab. I hope she finds something worthwhile, because it cost Blackwatch twenty grand.”

“That’s fine. Get whatever equipment you need. But if you think you’re going to go more than fifty thousand above your projected mission costs, let me know so I can start the paperwork. What’s your status with the Imagawa Clan?”

“We’ve been kind of neglecting that because of everything going on here. Luckily, Jesse’s Daisies are working like a charm. Intel thinks they can get enough solid evidence of illegal activities to take to a judge. We won’t even need the blue boys, if that’s the case. The Japanese authorities will have no choice but to shut them down.”

“Good. That means you can come home soon.”

“Yeah, it does,” Gabe smiles. “I’m sorry I had to leave you alone when everything is so complicated. How have you been doing?”

“Better. Zenyatta has been indispensable, by the way. It was a stroke of genius calling him in to help. How did you figure out that his energy thing would work for me, anyway?”

“Just…a gut feeling. Call it instinct, I guess.”

“Well, you’ve got good instincts. Speaking of Zenyatta, he asked me about doing some combat training.”

“That’s not a bad idea. He should be able to defend himself in the field, like everyone else.”

“You don’t think it’s a little strange?”

“Maybe, but he’s a fucking robot Buddhist monk with magic healing powers, so who am I to say what’s strange.”

“And he’s not even the strangest person we know,” Jack laughs. “How’s everything else? What happened with Genji?”

“He’s still confined to his quarters except for training and to see his father. I questioned him very gently. I didn’t really expect him to know anything. Between you and me, the kid’s kind of a mess.”

“A mess how?”

“He’s got some serious emotional issues. I think it’s being the younger son of a man like Sojiro. There are a lot of expectations and demands on him because of his father’s position, but he won’t inherit any of the power, so unless he leaves the clan, he’ll never be his own master. He’ll essentially go from being under his father’s authority to being under his brother’s. That’s got to fuck you up.”

“Why doesn’t he leave?”

“They have this whole family honor thing ground into their heads pretty thoroughly. There’d have to be a serious rupture to get him to strike out on his own. Unless Sojiro…”

“Unless Sojiro what?”

“Oh, nothing. I was just thinking out loud. I should go, though. Hanzo invited us all to have dinner with him, so that ought to be interesting. There anything else you wanted to talk about? I mean, besides you making out with family members?”

“I swear to god, Gabriel Reyes, one day you are going to wake up with some facial hair missing.”

“If you ever catch me sleeping. Hey, there was one thing I forgot to mention the other night. Those Talon people didn’t ever identify their group to Dr. Inoue, but he said they called themselves ‘the tip of the spear.’ Germain Doisneau used those exact words when he spoke to me before he died.”

“The tip of the spear is a term for US Special Forces units. The ones who go in first and punch a hole in the enemy’s defenses so the rest of the troops can breach. That might be a useful clue to who they are.”

“It might be. But baby, please tell me you did not just mansplain a US military term to me.”

“No, I was just—wait I can’t mansplain to you, you’re a man. And how do you even know what mansplaining is?”

“I got in trouble with Claudia for doing it to her today.”

“You got in trouble with Claudia, huh? Are you ever planning to use proper ranks and last names with your subordinates?”

“We’ll see. The spirit might overtake me.”

“Just don’t use their first names in official reports, ok? And don’t let them start calling you by yours, whatever the circumstances.”

“Of course not! What kind of operation do you think I’m running? I’m a professional, Jack. I don’t let my subordinates use my first fucking name.”

“Good.”

“I make them all call me daddy.”

“Jesus Christ. I’m hanging up now.”

“Love you.”

“Fuck off. Love you, too.”

 

 

“I suppose it is up to him,” Angela says. “If Commander Morrison can spare him for the time required to undertake the training.”

The senior members of the Overwatch staff, excluding Commander Reyes, are seated around the massive, glass table in the conference room. Captain Amari looks at Jack, who is at the head of the table, just to Angela’s right.

“What kind of time commitment are we talking about?” he asks.

“A couple of hours a day for a month or two, depending on how quickly he learns,” Ana says. “Nothing too rigorous. We’re not making him a commando.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Jack says. “But this is your decision, Angela. Master Zenyatta is assigned to your staff.”

Angela frowns. “I do not understand why a Shambali monk would be interested in combat training in the first place. Their order is entirely nonviolent.”

“He is also an Overwatch agent,” Ana replies. “We are a military organization. Master Zenyatta was aware of that when he signed on.”

Jack nods. “And all of our staff are trained to handle contingencies that may require less peaceful solutions.”

“It seems that you two have already made up your minds,” Angela says, with a toss of her platinum curls. “I am not sure why you asked for my opinion.”

“He doesn’t want to be a soldier, Angela,” Jack says, in a conciliatory tone. “He only expressed a wish to be prepared to defend his teammates and himself, should the need arise. You must agree that it’s only prudent.”

“Of course you are both correct,” she sighs. “I fear I am growing more and more weary of war and violence as the years pass. I have seen far too much of both.”

“I think we all are,” Jack says. “But that’s why we’re here. To keep war and violence to a minimum by being the strong hand that guides the world.”

Ana chuckles. “Careful, Jack. You are beginning to sound like a benevolent dictator.”

“You know what I mean.” Jack grins self-consciously, lighting up his blue eyes and giving him that air of boyish naïveté that makes him such a devastating opponent to the unwary. “Angela, thank you for understanding. I’ll inform Master Zenyatta of your decision. Let’s move on to our next agenda item. Ana, I believe you have a report concerning the Paris bureau?”

“I do,” Ana says. “The reconstruction and renovations on the former Paris HQ building have been completed. It is now ready to be reopened as the Paris Center for Omnic Refugees. Lt. Wilhelm and his team are coordinating security with the Police Nationale for the dedication ceremony and opening gala. Notable guests to be in attendance will include yourself, Agent and Madame Lacroix, Master Tekhartha Mondatta, UN Under-Secretary-General Adawe, French President Eugénie Morrel and Prime Minister François Noirtier, Mayor of Paris Renée de Villefort, and a number of French officials and lower ranking dignitaries. The ceremony will be held…Jack, are you listening to me?”

“Yep. I’m listening,” Jack says, looking up from his phone. “Please, go on.”

“Don’t worry, Captain Amari,” Lt. Beckett calls, from her seat behind the Commander. “I’m taking notes.”

“Good girl,” Ana smiles. “The ceremony will be held on May seventeenth, giving you ample time to prepare a very good excuse for not attending.”

“Oh, no I’ll be there,” Jack says brightly. “Of course I will.”

Ana eyes him suspiciously. “Right…of course you will.”

“I have to, Ana. Master Mondatta needs all the support we can give him. I can’t go to bat for him with the UN and then drop the ball on the first big step we’re taking to integrate Omnics into society.”

“I am glad to hear it. Your personal presence will add quite a bit of credibility to the event. And about a thousand members of the press.”

“Exactly.”

“They’ll want interviews with you, sir,” Beckett interjects. “Leading up to the event.”

“I’ll do a couple,” Jack says. “But no questions about anything but the Paris COR opening. And only major networks and news outlets. I don’t want to talk to any fucking gossip columnists with gotcha questions about tension between me and Commander Reyes.”

“Yes, sir,” Beckett says, tapping away at her tablet.

“Good. Anything else?”

“One more thing, then we can get to Captain Torres,” Ana says. “Lt. Wilhelm tells me that Madame Lacroix is becoming increasingly vocal about dismissing her Overwatch security detail.”

“She is? Why?”

“She says she does not—and I quote—‘want to be hovered over like a baby goose.’ I am also told that she finds their presence at her social functions to be particularly intrusive.”

Jack clears his throat to disguise a laugh. Madame Lacroix, before she married Monsieur Lacroix, was (and still is) the Vicomtesse Guillard. Her “social functions” were (and still are) Paris upper-crust society’s best-kept secret. The only reason Jack even knows of them is through Gabe, who holds the notable distinction of being the only man in history to decline an invitation to one of these sought-after soirées. Unlike the homey dinner party her ladyship had thrown when Gabe last visited, these events are frequented by nobility and actual royalty from all over Europe. They are strictly invite-only ( _pas de plus_ ), have a rigorous dress-code, and require that prospective attendees sign an agreement to abide by an elaborate set of rules in order to be granted access. In a word, they are parties of an adult nature. He can’t imagine having armed Overwatch agents standing around gawking at the guests lends anything to the mood (however entertaining it may be for the agents themselves).

“What does Agent Lacroix say about it?”

“You know Gérard,” Ana shrugs. “He thinks he is invincible. But where Amélie is concerned, he is prone to err on the side of overprotective.”

“You think the security detail should be removed?”

“Not entirely, but several months have passed without incident. Perhaps they can be limited to patrolling outside the Lacroix home and accompanying her to the Opéra.”

“Alright,” Jack says, mulling this over for a moment. “I think you’re probably right, and they could at least be scaled back. But I’m not comfortable doing anything that will cause Gérard distress regarding Mel’s safety. So, I’m going to trust him to do what he thinks is best. Let him know that keeping, limiting, or dismissing the security detail is up to his discretion.”

Ana nods her assent and makes a note in her phone. Then Captain Torres takes the floor, promising to thrill his audience to the end of their wits with his lengthy report on the state of post-Crisis economic recovery in Brazil.

 

 

Dinner at Shimada Castle turns out to be far more pleasant than Gabe had anticipated. Hanzo is a warm and hospitable host, and even Genji (allowed out of his quarters to dine with his father’s guests) appears to be at ease. Moira is undoubtedly the star of the show, amusing everyone but Jesse with with a traditional Irish tale that appears to him to be, as he would describe it later, “A buncha nonsense about a fella who was real mad on account of some gal stealin’ a cow, so he up and turned into a monster and went around cuttin’ the tops off hills, and that made him so hungry he ate a dog, so its owner stuck him to a pole with a magic spear.”

Despite Jesse’s silent distaste for the story, the conversation flows convivially, punctuated by bursts of merriment until all of the superb dishes (and several bottles of sake) have been consumed, and the company breaks up for the evening. Gabe strolls out into the garden for a smoke, Moira and Claudia head upstairs to check in on Sojiro, and Jesse and Hanzo walk with Genji to the boys’ hall.

Jesse is happy to see Genji in better spirits, and hopes he’ll stay and chat for a while, but Genji simply bids him goodnight and goes off to his room. Jesse pauses, half intending to follow him, but Hanzo’s sweet voice is already whispering in his ear and his soft hand is in Jesse’s, leading him away to bed and one more night of the ephemeral bliss that Jesse knows must end far too soon.

He is lying naked in his sweetheart’s arms, fast asleep and dreaming contentedly of nothing in particular, when they are both startled awake by a heavy knock at Hanzo’s door. A Shimada household guard opens it without waiting for a response and speaks urgently to Hanzo in Japanese. Before Jesse, half-awake and disoriented in the dark, can ask what is the matter, Hanzo has thrown on his yukata and run from the room.

“Would you like me to light the lamp, Jesse?” the guard, whose voice Jesse now recognizes, asks helpfully.

“Not unless you wanna see all my bits and pieces,” Jesse mumbles, groping about for his underwear. “What in sam-hell’s goin’ on, Shinya?”

“The Master is very ill. Commander Reyes ordered us to fetch young master Hanzo and Genji immediately.”

Jesse curses under his breath and gets into his jeans as quickly as he can. He grabs his shirt and goes after Hanzo, pulling it on as he hurries through the boys’ hall. When he reaches the Seiden, he finds Hanzo in the hallway outside the Master’s chamber, speaking quietly with Commander Reyes. Genji is seated on a bench, looking stunned and listless. Jesse sits beside his friend. He hears the Commander telling Hanzo, “It’s alright, son. I’ll be here as long as you need me.”

Then Gabe and Hanzo sit on the bench opposite Jesse and Genji, and the four wait in tense silence for any word from the two physicians working diligently within. The door slides open and a servant hurries away, bowing to the Master’s sons as she departs. Claudia appears in the doorway and beckons to Hanzo and Genji, then slides the door shut behind them. Jesse’s stomach turns. He leans over with his elbows on his knees and holds his head in his hands.

“He’ll be ok, Jesse,” Gabe says, moving to the bench beside him.

“The Master?”

“Hanzo will be ok.”

“My—my ma…my ma died like this,” Jesse says. His voice chokes with emotion and he shakes his head. “I just…I can’t—”

Gabe pulls the boy into his arms and rocks him soothingly. “I’m so sorry, mijo. I wish I could protect you from all this suffering somehow.”

“Just…promise me you ain’t goin’ nowhere. Promise you ain’t gonna leave me all alone again.”

“Never, Jesse. I’ll always, always be here for you. I promise.”

“You can’t know that though,” Jesse says despondently. “What if you get killed on a mission? What if…what if you get sick?”

“Jesse, look at me,” Gabe says. “I won’t get sick. I won’t get killed on a mission. When I say I’ll always be here for you, I mean it. I would never make a promise to you that I didn’t know I could keep.”

Jesse lifts his head and looks up at Gabe. “You swear?”

“I swear.”

“Ok…but you swore now, so you gotta stick to it, no matter what.”

“I know, Jesse,” Gabe smiles. “Where you come from it means something when a man gives his word.”

“Damn right it does,” Jesse says. He hesitates, then hides his face by laying his head on Gabe’s chest. “I…I love you, dad.”

This impact of this simple phrase knocks the breath out of Gabe’s lungs. He takes a moment to recover before he can respond.

“I love you, too, Jesse,” he says, kissing the top of the boy’s head and holding him tight. “I will always love you. No matter what.”

This is the manner in which Gabriel Reyes, orphaned, alone since childhood, decorated veteran of the US Army, former CIA operative, and by all rights, the greatest soldier in the world, finds himself sitting on a wooden bench in the hallway of a Japanese castle, holding his son in his arms. As they wait together for whatever will come next, his mind wanders back across the vast and intricate web of circumstances that brought him here, to this place at this time. Whatever misery and hardship he has endured, he finds now that he wouldn’t give up a moment of it, because it would mean giving up this moment, too. His wounds have made him who he is. Not a warrior and leader of men, but a father and a husband. A man who is strong enough to love and let himself be loved. A man his father would be proud to call his son.

Gabe and Jesse look up anxiously as the door slides open again. Hanzo stands in the doorway, staring past them, as if he can’t see them. His face is ash-white and expressionless. In his hands, he holds a long, ceremonial sword in a red and gold scabbard. Jesse does not know what it means at first, but Gabe recognizes the token immediately. He rises from the bench and bows low to Hanzo.

“Shimada-sama,” he says solemnly. “Please accept my deepest sympathy for your loss. If I can be of any service to you in this time of grief, I am at your disposal.”

Hanzo’s eyes focus on him and he returns the bow. “Thank you…Gabriel Reyes,” he says, in a strained, halting voice. “I—I must inform my people of the Master’s passing.”

“Hanzo, darlin’,” Jesse says, jumping up from his seat and stepping toward his lover. “Your pa, he’s…”

Hanzo raises a trembling hand to stop him. “Jesse, please look after Genji for me. He is in great distress and your presence will be a comfort to him. Commander Reyes, I would be very grateful for your assistance. There is much that I must do now and I am afraid that I am…unprepared.”

“Anything you need, Hanzo,” Gabe says. “Just let me know what I can do.”

Jesse stares after the Commander and Hanzo as they disappear down the stairs together. He can’t help but feel a bit stung by Hanzo’s rebuff of his sympathy, but the boy just lost his father, and it wouldn’t be fair to expect him to consider Jesse’s feelings at the moment. He turns and enters the room reluctantly, recalling the image of his mother’s pale, hollow face, wasted by weeks of suffering before she was finally released.

When he sees his friend, however, kneeling beside his father’s bed, still clinging to his lifeless hand, any thought of himself evaporates from Jesse’s mind. He goes to Genji and kneels beside him, laying his strong, comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder. Genji gives a start and looks up at him through puffy, red-rimmed eyes.

“Jesse,” he sniffles. “My…my father…”

“I know, Genji. I’m real sorry. He was a good man.”

“He was a good man, Jesse. I loved him very much. I was such a—a disappointment to him.”

“Aw, Genj, you wadn’t a disappointment. He knew you was only tryin’ to save him.”

“It is not only that,” Genji says sadly. “I have always been a trouble to him, since I was born. I was never good, like Hanzo.”

“He didn’t need you to be like Hanzo. He loved you just how you are. You know he did.”

“I…I know he did.” Fresh tears fill Genji’s dark-grey eyes and roll down his face, splashing onto the front of his white t-shirt. “But he is gone now and—and no one loves me.”

“That ain’t true. Your brother loves you.”

Genji shakes his head and does not reply. Jesse glances over to where Claudia and Moira are talking in hushed tones at the far end of the room. He’d have been inclined to suspect foul play on that red-headed witch-doctor’s part, but Claudia’s presence guarantees that nothing of that sort could have occurred. Besides, he knows he’s just looking for an easy target for his grief and anger at being so helpless in the face of death. He’s been through this before. The lord giveth and the lord taketh away. The cruel son of a bitch.

“Why don’t you come with me now, Genj,” he says gently. “The docs gotta do their work and you must be real exhausted. I’ll stay with you as long as you want and I’ll sing you as many songs as you like, ok?”

Genji manages a heartbreakingly brave smile. “Ok, Jesse. Thank you.”

Then he stands and gazes his last on his father, Shimada Sojiro, Master of the Shimada Clan, still beautiful and noble in death, lying peacefully on his pillows, as if he is sleeping. His suffering has ended and he has found his rest at last.

“Farewell, my father,” he whispers, in his own language. “I will remember what you said, and I will do my best.”

 

 

 

“Why is it taking so long? Can’t you hurry it up?”

“It takes as long as it takes,” the girl says, keeping her eyes on the screen. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

She gives the glowing surface a series of rapid, rhythmic taps. After a minute or two, something happens that appears to please her. She smiles and turns to the large, muscular man at her side.

“¡Listo!”

“Bueno, bueno. Let’s go, mija. ¡Órale!”

He starts to walk away, but his diminutive female companion remains standing exactly where she is. He wheels around and glowers down at her, attempting to feel as imposing as he looks. With his full sleeves of tattoos, shaved head, and the telltale skull adorning his black tank-top, anyone else would have run for the nearest available shelter.

She glares right back up at him and puts her little hands on her hips. “Call me ‘mija’ again, and I will end you, pelón.”

He looks as if he is about to make a snappy reply, but apparently thinks the better of it. “Fine, let’s just go before someone sees us.”

“Who do you think is going to see us? La policía?”

“Maybe.”

“Tss. It’s not illegal to stand in front of a building. No le saques.”

“Come on, Vera, we did the thing. There’s no reason to hang around waiting to get caught.”

“You mean _I_ did the thing. You just stood there and bugged me.”

“I stood there and—” he begins, but she turns on her heel and marches off down the street.

He trails after her, heavy boots clunking on the cobblestones, feeling a bit more like an obedient dog than he is customarily pleased to feel. He knows why they need this mouthy little fresa, but he wishes she wasn’t so damned sure of it. She reaches the truck a full ten seconds before him, and is already climbing into the open bed, where two more of their compas are lounging and smoking.

“You gotta ride up front, Vera,” he says. “You know the rules.”

She plants her feet defiantly, but he shakes his head firmly and holds out his arms. This time, he has the victory.

“Lalo and Chava get to ride in back,” she pouts, as he sets her down on the street. “Why can’t I?”

He opens the passenger-side door and she clambers into the cab, where she sits in the cramped space between her bulky companion and the driver.

“You know why, mija,” the woman in the driver’s seat says. “Don’t give Neto a hard time about it. How did it go?”

“I got us in. It’ll take a couple days for the transactions to complete, but we’re looking at something like five million. Scoot over, Neto, for fuck’s sake! You’re so fat, I swear.”

She elbows him sharply in the ribs emphasize her point.

“I’m not fat,” Neto (who has about an ounce of fat on his entire body and is very vain of his physique) replies petulantly. “I’m as far over as I can get. And how come Luz can call you mija, but when I do it, it’s all ‘I’ll end you’ and shit.”

“Neto!” the older woman snaps. “Watch your mouth in front of the kid!”

“But she just said…whatever, man.”

He contents himself with grumbling under his breath as Luz starts the antigrav engine. She pulls the truck slowly out of the alley and they cruise through the sleepy city streets at an unhurried pace. In about ten minutes, they are turning out onto the Chemax-Coba highway, which will take them back to their hideout on the outskirts of Castillo, a little town a few kilometers outside the coastal city of Dorado.

Bright lights and garish neon signs on service stations and roadside diners assail their eyes until they pass east of Tikuch. After that, the lush vegetation creeps all the way up to the highway and stands like high walls on either side. There are only the single lights on emergency call-boxes to break the monotony of the black night, and these are few and far between. Luz rolls down the windows to admit the cool, balmy night air. Neto takes out a thin, dark-brown cigarillo and puts it in his mouth.

“Lu-uz,” the girl pipes up in a sing-song voice, drawing her friend’s name out to two syllables. “Neto’s smokiiiing.”

“Neto, you can’t smoke with Vera in the truck,” Luz chides. “What are you thinking?”

“With Vera in the—she bums them off me all the time!”

“That’s even worse, Ernesto. She’s thirteen years old. You shouldn’t be giving her tobacco. Have you been smoking, Calavera?”

“No, ma’am,” Vera says innocently. “He must be going loco or something.”

Luz raises an eyebrow. “Well, you better not let me catch you. It’ll be your…what is going on up there?”

“Must be an accident,” Neto says, leaning his head out the window for a better look.

“Or a fucking roadblock,” Luz says. “Hijo de puta.”

She taps a signal on the back window. Their two compatriots lie flat in the bed of the truck and pull the canvas cover over themselves.

“What do we do?” Neto asks.

“There’s nothing we can do, now,” Luz says. “We’ll have to take our chances. It might just be a traffic accident. Get Vera my sidearm from the glove compartment. If we have to shoot our way out, I don’t want her unarmed. Vera, get down on the floor and don’t move till I tell you it’s ok.”

“Sí, Luz,” Vera says, trying to sound calm.

She slides down onto the floor between Neto’s knees and makes herself as small as possible. He places the heavy machine-pistol in her tiny hands.

“Keep the safety on until you know you need to use it,” he says gently. “You ok, mija?”

She nods anxiously and presses her back up against his shins. The use of the diminutive term doesn’t irritate her now. Rather, she is immensely grateful for his sturdy, brotherly presence, standing like a bulwark between her and whatever danger awaits a few meters ahead. She feels her heart pounding in her throat as they approach the scene. Then Luz releases her breath audibly and almost laughs with relief. She can see the ambulance now. It is parked a little off the right side of the road and had been hidden from their view by the huge, black, Yucatán State Police SUVs that are sitting behind it.

There are emergency services personnel moving about, and two uniformed police officers leaning on an SUV. One peers in the window of the truck, then waves them on with his flashlight, directing them to pass using the shoulder on the left side. Luz smiles and waves her acknowledgement as she steers the truck carefully around the group of vehicles. She makes Vera wait until they are far, far out of view before she climbs back into her seat. She returns the gun to Neto, who stows it in the glove compartment. Then he puts his big arm around her and she snuggles into him. After a little while, she begins to nod off.

“I didn’t like that,” Luz says quietly, after she is sure Vera is asleep. “They’re looking for her.”

“It was just an accident,” Neto replies in an equally hushed tone. “You saw the ambulance.”

“I didn’t see any wrecked vehicles. Did you?”

Neto shakes his head. He looks down at the sleeping girl. As annoying as she can be, she’s one of their own. She’s blood now. He doesn’t want her to be taken away. But she’s getting way too bold and careless. One day, it’s going to cost her. She makes a drowsy little sound and stirs, burying her face deeper into his chest. He pulls his black hoodie out of the lip of the door and lays it over her. Whoever is looking for his little hermanita isn’t going to get her on his watch.

“Luz,” he whispers. “Who’s after her? You gotta tell me. I won’t tell no one, I swear.”

Luz sighs. “Dangerous people.”

“We’re dangerous people,” he says staunchly. “We can defend ourselves.”

“Listen to me, Ernesto. The people that are after her are nothing to play around with. If they wanted to kill us all, nothing in the world could stop them. They would slaughter every single one of us and no one could help us. We have men and guns, but they have power. That’s why we’re doing all of this. To get the power out of the hands of these huge, corrupt organizations and back into the hands of the people, where it belongs. That’s the only way we’ll really have freedom.”

“But…what do they want Vera for?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she knows something. Maybe she has something they want. Either way, we’re not going to let them find her.”

They sit in silence, staring out into the darkness for a while.

“Luz,” Neto whispers again. “Is it LumériCo? Is that who’s after her?”

“No, now shut up about it. I’m not going to tell you.”

Neto knows better than to argue with Luz, so he shuts up and they spend the rest of the drive in quiet contemplation. When they finally pull into Castillo, the eastern horizon above the ocean is beginning to fade from black to cobalt. Neto gets out of the truck, followed by Vera, still draped in his huge, black hoodie like a monk’s cloak. She stands yawning and shivering in the early-morning cold. The men in the back jump down and others hurry up to help them unload the crates of weapons and carry them to the armory.

“You run off to bed, mija,” Luz tells Vera, kissing the top of her head. “We’ll report to the boss about the mission.”

The girl nods and goes trotting away toward her room. Neto opens his mouth to call after her and ask for his hoodie back, but changes his mind. She can keep it. He’s got plenty of jackets, anyhow. Luz sees this little scene play out and smiles to herself. Neto is one of the good ones. If only they were all like him, maybe Los Muertos would have a chance to really change things. As it is now…she’s afraid they are slipping further and further into organized crime and losing their focus on the ideals that started this thing. She pats Neto’s burly shoulder and he follows her through the arched breezeway toward the main building.

Vera slips into her room with a cup of coffee and absolutely no intention of going to bed. Pretending to be asleep is one of her most effective tricks for getting adults to reveal information to her, and it’s so easy, it almost seems like cheating. But this time, she didn’t like what she heard. She shudders and wraps Neto’s hoodie more securely around her petite body. The people who are after her…they will slaughter all her friends. No one can help. Nothing can stop them. But she can stop them. If not, at least she can slow them down. She sits at her computer and takes a sip of her coffee, stalling for time. But she has waited too long already. It’s time now.

She pushes up the sleeves of the oversized jacket and taps the screen. It springs to life and glows cheerfully, the only illumination in her darkened room. She presses a notch in her plastic bracelet, which causes a tiny, rectangular panel to pop out. She plugs this into a port on her computer, then hesitates again. She has held onto it for so long, terrified of what it would mean to use it. To erase herself from existence. The only thing she has left is her name. It is the only thing that ties her to her past. To her mother’s memory. But it is also her weakness. If they can find it, they can find her. And then…

She sets down her mug. Quickly, not wanting to give herself time to second-guess it or change her mind, she taps out the sequence of keystrokes that will initiate her personal doomsday process. Now there’s no going back. She watches anxiously as the little hexagonal icons pop up on her screen, each one a visual representation of a record of her identity. One by one, they flash and then go grey. The last one flickers out. That’s it. She is gone. Erased from history, like she never existed. She sits perfectly still, staring at the blank screen. After a moment, she reaches out a finger and touches it reverently.

“Adíos, Olivia Colomar,” she says.

Then she laughs out loud. She had expected to feel something akin to grief or loss. Instead, she feels strangely light, like she has been carrying the past with her as a physical burden and now she is free of it. She breathes easily for the first time since she can remember. This is what it must feel like to be invisible. She can do anything now. Who can stop her if they can’t find her? No one. Not even the most powerful people in the world. Now she can really get to work.

 

 


	87. Red and Black

“I won’t accept it, Gabriel,” Moira says flatly, keeping her eye in the lens of the microscope. “My mind is made up.”

“I understand your rationale,” Gabe says. “I do. But that’s just not the way Hanzo sees it.”

“He and I will have to agree to disagree then, won’t we.”

“Look, I know you’re acting from the noblest of sentiments, here, but he isn’t going to take no for an answer. I don’t think he’s a man you want to butt heads with.”

Moira laughs. “That precious child with the long hair and pretty eyes? I think I’ll be alright, Gabriel.”

“That precious child is also a Japanese nobleman. He takes matters of honor exceedingly seriously. Even I’d think twice about offering him an insult.”

“Particularly now that he’s the head of the most powerful organized crime family in Japan,” she replies, smiling archly. “I tremble with fright.”

Gabe smiles and shakes his head. “Look, I’m not threatening you on his behalf. All I’m asking is that you try to see it from his perspective. His father entered into a contract with you. He feels that in order to honor his father’s memory, he needs to see its terms carried out.”

“I don’t consider my part of the contract to be fulfilled.” She furrows her severe brow, pressing the fingers of her gloved right hand with her left, as if they are in pain. “I failed to save Sojiro.”

“Moira, listen to me. Your job wasn’t to save him, it was to try. You tried. If you truly did your best to save him, then you are morally obligated to accept your payment.”

“I…I don’t know,” she says, softening somewhat. “Perhaps you’re right. I think it’s the failure that’s really troubling me. There must have been something more I could’ve done. I know I’d have found it if only I’d had a little more time.”

“But you didn’t. Maybe it was just that. His time.”

“Come, now. You can’t really believe all that rubbish about a time to be born and a time to die. A time to every purpose under heaven?”

“Hey, I didn’t come in here to get philosophical.” Gabe grins. “I’m just trying to stop you from offending a grieving teenaged Yakuza boss with a lot of weapons and no parental supervision.”

“Well, when you put it that way,” she says, lifting her hands in mock resignation. “I suppose I shall have to accept the Young Master’s money. You drive a hard bargain, Commander.”

“I think you meant to say I’m a stubborn asshole.”

“Certainly not. I would’ve said obstinate fucker.”

“Don’t get too big for your britches yet, doc,” Gabe laughs. “Remember, you still work for me. I’m paying you good Overwatch money to analyze the T-serum. Unless you fuck up and can’t figure that out, either.”

“Ooh, aren’t we saucy today. But it just happens that I’ve made some serious headway, so I’m afraid you’re going to be leaving here lighter in the wallet after all.”

“You have? Excellent. What did you find out?”

“Well, at first I thought the chromatograph was going wonky. But I retested the samples multiple times to make sure. What I got was simple saline-dextrose suspension, like an IV drip in a hospital, but with a far higher than usual presence of carbon. Dextrose has six carbon atoms, to be exact, which would account for a miniscule percentage of the solution. The stuff has about ten times what it should. Why would someone give a man syringes containing a saline drip full of carbon?”

“I can’t imagine.”

“Neither could I, unless the whole thing was a sham, which I thought was likely. However, the solution also contained trace amounts, meaning less than one hundred parts per million, of platinum and metallic gallium.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. Until you take into account the fact that Dr. Angela Ziegler’s pioneering biotic field device, the one that changed the face of battlefield medicine, makes special use of carbon, platinum, and gallium.”

“Nanites,” Gabe says. “There are nanites in that serum.”

“Bang on.”

“But how could you tell that tiny amount of those metals meant nanites? Wouldn’t they be inert until they received their activation signal?”

Moira eyes him curiously. “You do know your stuff, then. Yes, they would be. Dr. Ziegler’s nanites only respond to the pulse generated when the charge is detonated. That’s why they’re not constantly bursting out and hurling themselves at any organic life form that happens to be nearby. They’re also electrostatically shielded, so they won’t get mucked about with by electrochemical reactions inside the body. These little bastards, meaning the nanites in the T-serum, are keyed to respond to the electrical impulses generated by the sinoatrial node—the bundle of cells that regulate a human heartbeat. And they can’t seem to distinguish between a heartbeat and a signal generator. In brief, they’re much stupider than Dr. Ziegler’s.”

“How did you figure all of this out?”

“I put a serum sample under the microscope and then introduced low-level changes in voltage potential till it got them moving.”

“Are they still moving?”

Moira shakes her head. “Their half-life is extremely short. That’s probably why the treatment required twelve separate injections.”

“I guess that makes sense. How do you know so much about nanites, though? Aren’t you a geneticist?”

“I would ask you the same question, if I thought I’d get an answer,” she grins. “The treatment I developed for my own condition utilized nanites similar to Dr. Ziegler’s biotic nanites, to deliver the nucleic acid polymers directly to the affected cells. In fact, they were developed directly from her models, though mine were far less complex.”

“Do you think this cure would have worked, then? If Sojiro had agreed to use it?”

“It’s possible. They could’ve worked as a real cure. But it’s equally possible that they’d have been destructive. Unfortunately, there’s no way to tell what they’re going to do without seeing them in action. We’d have had to inject them into him and observe their behavior. They could be tested on live cells now, after the fact, but that would require some doing.”

“I’d prefer to leave testing like that up to Angela and her team at HQ.”

“Of course. This lab is certainly not equipped for it, by any means.”

“Thank you, Moira,” Gabe says, holding out his hand to shake hers. “This has been extremely helpful. I hope you don’t feel we’ve wasted your time.”

“Not at all,” Moira says agreeably, returning his handshake. “It’s been rather thrilling to make believe I’m part of a top-secret spy team for a while.”

“We’ve been glad to have you on the top-secret spy team. And who knows. Maybe we’ll need to call you in again sometime. That is, if you’d be willing to work with an obstinate fucker like me again.”

“I’d be delighted.”

 

As Jesse’s deep concern for Genji’s emotional state eases, he finds his own anxieties rising to the surface. Seven days have passed since the Master’s death, and Hanzo has not been more willing share his thoughts or feelings with him, nor even much of what he has been doing. In fact, he has become increasingly distant and unavailable. He is under new stresses and has many more duties as he steps into the role of Master, but it is more than that. Something has changed.

The most troubling indicator of this has been the termination of their nightly trysts. Termination is too strong a word. Lack of resumption is closer. The first three nights following Sojiro’s death, Jesse had stayed away out of respect for Hanzo’s grief. After that, he was simply not invited back. Of course, he hasn’t requested to spend the night with Hanzo since then, feeling that it would be absurdly selfish to ask, but he is wounded by the fact that his lover does not appear to wish for his presence as a comfort in his private hours.

This is all compounded by the fact that Commander Reyes is constantly with Hanzo, advising and assisting in the transition to the new Master’s regime, and so is not able to spare more than a moment or two at a time to talk with him. As a result, Jesse finds himself dull and listless, unable to muster much interest in the completion of their mission, or anything else. His one solace, oddly enough, has been Genji, who seems to thrive on Jesse’s company. This feeling of being needed and appreciated has been the only thing preventing Jesse from sliding headfirst into one of the black-dog depressions that have occasionally come on him over the years.

When Dr. O’Deorain departs and Commander Reyes informs the team that they will be following in three days time, Jesse knows that this is his last chance. He has to speak to Hanzo now or never. He resolves to visit him in his room tonight, invited or no, and attempt to convince his beloved to reveal his mind to him. If this is to be the end of their brief romance, so be it. It is only the uncertainty that is tormenting him. Or rather, that is what he thinks, until he stands in Hanzo’s presence and feels his soul actually dying inside his body.

“You…apologize,” Jesse says hoarsely.

His fists are clenched at his sides and his face is pale and drawn. His beloved looms before him like the graven image of a god. Still and serene. His heavy braid of black hair hangs gracefully over his shoulder, and his red-and-black silk kimono makes his flawless skin seem to be illuminated from within.

“You apologize if you _led me to believe_ …”

“Yes. I apologize,” Hanzo says, dipping his perfect chin. “I deeply regret my…thoughtlessness, and I wish to—”

“Your thoughtlessness,” Jesse cuts him off sharply. “That what it was? Thoughtlessness? When you said you loved me?”

“I wish,” Hanzo continues, “to explain my position. Then perhaps you will understand why I cannot allow our…our interactions to continue.”

Jesse squares his shoulders and crosses his arms on his broad chest. “Well?”

“I have certain…obligations,” Hanzo says slowly. “In fact, I am…I am engaged to be married.”

Jesse’s heart stops. The floor beneath him tilts and spins. Married. Hanzo is engaged to be married. How is this possible. How could he not have known. Of all the suspicions and doubts he has had, he never believed Hanzo to be capable of something so vile as this. To have lied about former lovers would be one thing. To betray one to whom a promise of this magnitude has been made is another.

“You’re engaged to be fuckin’ _married_?” he nearly roars. “What the fuck, Hanzo! What the fuck you been doin’ with me if you got a fuckin’ fiancée?”

“Please, Jesse,” Hanzo says, his voice losing some of its polished coolness. “Please listen to me.”

“Engaged to be fuckin’ married,” Jesse growls. He pushes his hair back and begins to pace restlessly to and fro, like a caged lion. “Ok, I’ll hear you. Get talkin’.”

“This betrothal was arranged between myself and a daughter of the master of an allied clan when I was ten years old. I have seen her only once in my life, the day that it was settled. Now that I have succeeded to my full inheritance, I will be expected to marry her and to…to produce an heir in order to secure the alliance, as contracted by our parents.”

Jesse arrests his agitated movement and turns to face his lover, visibly trembling with the sudden excess of adrenaline.

“That’s…some fucked up shit,” he says, swallowing hard in his parched throat. “Tell ‘em you won’t do it. They…they can’t make you marry someone you don’t even know.”

“Such things are agreed upon as matters of honor. I cannot break this tie without greatly damaging my family’s name and my own.” Hanzo lowers his voice and his black eyelashes. “I should have told you this before we…before things went so far between us. I did not wish to…hurt you this way.”

Jesse’s eyes fill, blurring his vision. He blinks the tears away, but they keep coming. He steps close to Hanzo and puts his hands on his shoulders, looking pleadingly into his beautiful face.

“Hanzo, I love you,” he says softly. “I know you love me, too. Don’t that mean somethin’ to you?”

Hanzo raises those devastating grey-black eyes to meet his gaze. Jesse reaches up to touch his perfect, pearl-white cheek, but Hanzo draws back a pace and turns away.

“I am sorry, Jesse. I wish…I wish that things could have been…other than they are.”

“Please, darlin’.” Jesse’s voice comes out in a strained whisper. “I’m beggin’ you. Please don’t do this.”

There is a long pause. Hanzo moves as if to turn and face him, then stops. Jesse can see the tension working in every muscle of his normally supple and graceful body. He keeps his back turned to Jesse. 

“I cannot be what you need me to be, Jesse,” he says, in a cold, hollow voice. “There is nothing either of us can do that will change this.”

Jesse stands in stupefied silence for what seems like an age.

“So that’s it, then,” he says at last. “It’s over. Just like that.”

“Please…please forgive me.”

“I told you I’d never love no one but you, Hanzo,” Jesse replies bitterly. “And I won’t. Not as long as I live. But I don’t reckon I’ll forgive you, either.”

He turns abruptly and retreats from Hanzo’s room, blind and sick with anguish. He has never felt pain like this. Not even at the death of his mother. That pain was lingering, protracted, and had burned low. A grief of years, the crescendo of which was not substantially different from the prolonged anticipation. He had been prepared for that loss. This one is a keen and rending blow to his exposed heart that leaves him stunned and bleeding, unable to make sense of what has happened. Humiliated, rejected, and still achingly, desperately in love.

A cheerful fire is blazing in the main room of the boys’ hall. In its warm light, Jesse can see his guitar, sitting propped up against the wall where he’d left it earlier today. He stops and stares at it, vividly recalling that night when he had played his favorite song and Hanzo had smiled that divinely beautiful smile. That was it. The moment Jesse had fallen in love.

He grits his teeth and forces himself to breathe through the spasm that constricts his chest. He swallows the pain and thrusts it down into that yawning pit at the bottom of his soul. Then, in one swift, smooth motion, he takes his beloved guitar by its slender neck and smashes it to splinters on the stone mantel. He leaves the pieces where they fall and stumbles out of the hall into the black, solitary night.

Unseen to Jesse, the author of his misery stands motionless, exactly as Jesse had left him, gazing through the wall into the middle-distance. He gives a terrible start at the discordant crash as the instrument meets its fate. His body shakes violently. He takes a step toward his bed, but he can’t control his quaking limbs. He stumbles and falls onto his hands and knees, the first graceless thing he has done since he was a small child.

After a long moment, he pushes himself up and climbs laboriously to his feet, heavy tears pouring down his cheeks and neck, soaking the collar of his kimono. He wants to run after his lover, beg him to come back, to forgive him, to take him away from this place and make him his own forever. He nearly rushes for the door. But his father’s final words to him, spoken just the day before he died, ring in his ears.

“You will be the Master soon, my son. You must guide and protect our people. All of those who rely upon us for their livelihoods and safety are now in your charge. Most of all, you must look after your brother. He is not like you. He has not your mother’s strength of spirit to fortify him, as you have. Forgive him the circumstances of his birth and love him, Hanzo. You and he will be all that remains of our family.”

He straightens himself up and wipes away his tears. Smoothing the front of his kimono, he treads noiselessly into the main hall. He finds the big, black guitar case and kneels beside the fireplace, gathering up the shattered remains of his lover’s guitar and placing them carefully inside, as if they are the bones of a loved one, and the scuffed, travel-worn case is a ceremonial urn. When he is satisfied that he has collected every last fragment, he closes and fastens the lid and carries it away with him to his room.

He shuts his door and lays the guitar case on his bed. He undresses, puts away his clothing, and performs his regular bedtime rituals. Finally, he extinguishes his lamp and lies down in his bed beside Jesse’s guitar case. He wraps his arm around it and gives free rein to his tears, letting his deep, racking sobs draw him down into merciful unconsciousness.

 

Jesse does not return to the boys’ hall during the remainder of the team’s stay in Japan. He is immensely grateful to Genji, who neither asks where his guitar has gone, nor requests that he play any more songs. Both Genji and Claudia seem to understand what has occurred without being told. They never make mention of it, but they make sure to be near Jesse at almost all hours and see that he is properly fed and cared for. Jesse is too internally shattered to actually enjoy their kind ministrations, but he plays along as best he can, knowing what it means to his friends to feel that they are helping.

Genji, in turn, puts on a cheerful front for Jesse’s benefit, though he is torn in spirit. Partly by losing his father, partly by his impending separation from his friend, and partly because he knows now that he will be unable to honor his father’s final command to him. To love and respect his brother, and to trust him to know what is right. How can he love or respect Hanzo, when he has broken the heart of a good and honorable man so cruelly, and so indifferently thrown him away.

Claudia is exhausted by the balancing act between her duties as Blackwatch agent, temporary Shimada family physician, and coordinator of distracting activities for her two wounded, distraught little brothers (as she has come to refer to Jesse and Genji). She is genuinely happy to care for them and wouldn’t trade her job for anyone else’s in the world, but she does look forward to three days from now, when she can get back to work and have a rest.

These three days pass quickly. For Gabe, it is because he is at work twenty-four hours a day. For Jesse, it is due to the tenacious affection of Claudia and Genji, who have become very dear to him on this mission, and who seem to have thrown themselves wholeheartedly into producing amusements for him. He allows himself to be bustled about to various tourist attractions and confectioner’s shops, and even lets them talk him into a sort of movie and pajama party in Claudia’s room, the night before they leave.

In the wee hours of the morning, the day his team is due to return, Commander Morrison receives a text message from Commander Reyes that reads: “Blackwatch Official Mission Report: Your Eyes Only.” It contains a photo of agents McCree and Oberkampf, along with Genji. They are asleep on a sofa, all under one blanket, surrounded by empty cookie boxes and candy wrappers, and the scattered debris of what must have been an enormous bowl of popcorn.

 

The Blackwatch team takes leave of Shimada Castle with all the ceremony appropriate to the departure of honored guests. Genji smiles staunchly, despite his misery, as he says goodbye to his new friends. The Master thanks Commander Reyes very sincerely for all he has done, and as is customary, he bids them all formal farewells and bestows parting gifts. When their goodbyes are said, they strap into their seats in the Shimada SUV and the convoy rolls out of the massive main gate. Jesse tosses the small, red box containing his gift into the back of the SUV without opening it and pulls his hat down over his eyes.

The TAAV lands at Swiss HQ late that evening, when most of the heliport personnel are off-duty. Commander Reyes orders his two young agents off to bed and sees to the unloading himself, assisted by the loadmaster and a few members of the night crew. When this is complete and the logs are all signed, he sits alone in the TAAV, putting the finals touches on the mission report so he can close the file. He had half-expected Jack to come to meet them, but they hadn’t talked about it, and Jack is always unreasonably busy, anyway. He is strolling across the deserted helipad toward the building entrance, when his phone vibrates in his pocket.

OCM-001: Where the fuck are you come fuck me right now.

BWR-002: Yes, sir.

OCM-001: You’re not here yet. Hurry up.

BWR-002: It’s been five seconds. You’re so impatient.

OCM-001: Ugh. Stupid physical distances.

BWR-002: It is pretty far. Maybe I’ll just go to my room.

OCM-001: I will kill you.

BWR-002: Promises, promises.

OCM-001: You’re still not here. That’s it. No sex for you.

BWR-002: You know you can’t resist me, baby.

OCM-001: I can so. You’re not *that* sexy.

BWR-002: Like fuck I’m not. I have looked in a mirror, you know.

OCM-001: Would you be able to say no you?

BWR-002: Definitely.

BWR-002: But only because we’d both want to top.

OCM-001: Fuck I spit my drink out all over the carpet.

BWR-002: Yeah, I heard you laugh.

Jack runs to the door as it slides open and assails his husband with kisses. Gabe lifts him off his feet and carries him to the bedroom without a word. When he sets him down, Jack pushes the slightly taller, broader man down forcefully onto his bed and sits astride his lap. Gabe laughs and submits contentedly to Jack’s play of pinning his arms as he kisses him with urgent, impatient desire. It delights him to be wanted so passionately by this man, even after so many years.

Jack is the only man with whom he has allowed himself to drop his defenses and be emotionally vulnerable during sex. He’d had too many fucks to count before he met Jack, but he had never felt anything with them like he did with Jack. Even the first time they fucked in that shower, he had known instinctively that this was different, though it had taken him some time to admit it to himself. Jack had gotten to him. Got right down inside and made a home in the middle of Gabe’s being before he’d had a chance to put up his defenses. He has never regretted it. He feels Jack tugging at his boot and sits up to help, but Jack pushes him back down.

“Cut it out, Reyes. I’m going to undress you.”

“Oh yeah? Who do you think you are, the boss?”

“I am literally your boss,” Jack says, tossing Gabe’s boot away.

“I bet you’re not.”

Jack pulls off his other boot and tosses it. “I am so.”

“Prove it.”

“How? You want me to make you clean some latrines or something?”

“Fuck me.”

“I’m trying to,” Jack says, tugging at his jeans. “You’re wearing so many goddamned clothes, though.”

Gabe sits up and lets Jack pull off his shirt, too. Then he catches him in his arms and buries his face in his silky blonde hair, kissing him and sighing deeply, like he’s been away a year. He looks up into his husband’s beautiful eyes.

“Jack…I meant that. I want you to fuck me.”

“I know, Gabe,” Jack laughs. “Who’s impatient now?”

“No, I mean…if you’d be comfortable with it, I would like you to…fuck me.”

Jack’s bright blue eyes go wide with astonishment.

“We’ve…never switched before, Gabe,” he says. He finds his heart pounding and his stomach fluttering with sudden anxiety at this prospect. “I—I don’t know if I can…do it.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” Gabe says gently. “It was just a thought. I totally freaked you out, didn’t I.”

“No…you didn’t freak me out,” Jack says, biting his lip thoughtfully. “It’s just…I’ve never done it. I’m afraid I’ll be really bad at it and disappoint you.”

“Well, Jack, you’re bisexual. You’ve ‘topped’ with women, so you at least know the basics. But, if it makes you feel any better, I’ve never let a man fuck me before. So, chances are, I won’t know if you were bad at it or not.”

Jack frowns. “Wait, you’ve never bottomed?”

“Never.”

“Not even once?”

“Nope.”

“Well, fuck. That’s the last time you get to call me bisexual, Gabe. I’m way gayer than you.”

“Being the penetrator or the penetrated doesn’t have anything to do with how gay you are, baby. It’s that I’m not attracted to women and you are.”

“I’m not attracted to anyone but you. I’m Gabesexual.”

“I knew it. I always said that one day I’d be the entire ‘G’ in LGBTQ.”

“You did say that,” Jack laughs. “What brought this on, though? We’ve been fucking for decades and you’ve never even hinted at it before. I just assumed you weren’t…into it.”

“Jack, the reason I’ve never bottomed isn’t because I don’t like that kind of stimulation. I mean, we’ve played a lot. You know I like it.”

“Why haven’t you, then?”

“It’s because it’s fucking terrifying to me, not to be in control. But…I want to be able to let all of that go with you. I don’t want there to be any kind of barrier between us, physically or emotionally. I have never been able to let myself be vulnerable like that to another person. But I want to be totally vulnerable with you. Does that…make sense?”

“Yeah. It makes sense.” Jack says, with a little tremor in his voice. “I just…I never expected to hear you say these things. I didn’t know any of this about you, and I should have. I love you so much, Gabe.”

“I love you, too, Jack.” Gabe kisses Jack’s lips gently, then pulls him into an embrace. “But listen, I know I sprung this on you out of the blue, so let’s leave it on the table for now and you can think about it. If you decide you don’t want to do it, it’s no big deal. Ok?”

“Well…I mean…I kind of want to, now.”

Gabe raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s not like I haven’t thought about it before. What it would be like to make you feel the way I feel when you’re inside me.”

“Delirious because I’m so amazing at fucking that you can’t think?”

“Shut the fuck up! I’m trying to open up to you, here. You make me feel desired and cared for. Submitting to you and trusting you makes me feel…safe. It’s a very different feeling than the other way. I don’t know if you’d have the same experience, but…I’d like to share that with you.”

“Thank you, baby.” Gabe smiles adoringly up at his husband. “That means a lot to me. Hey, where are you going?”

“Getting some lube,” Jack says, leaning off the side of the bed to open a drawer. “I’m gonna fuck you.”

“Oh you are, are you?”

“Yep. I’ve decided.” Jack climbs back over to Gabe with a black bottle in his hand.

“Jack.”

“Hm?”

Gabe grins. “Be gentle. It’s my first time.”

“You asshole,” Jack laughs. “Come lay down over here.”

“I’m—I’m actually not so sure now,” Gabe says, laughing nervously as Jack peels off his underwear. “Maybe we should…try this some other time.”

“It’s going to be ok, I promise,” Jack says. He pushes his mouth against Gabe’s ear and lowers his voice to a purr. “I’m just going to put my cock in you and fuck you till you beg for mercy.”

“Oh…ah!” Gabe says, as Jack pushes his legs apart. “Ok, then.”

He’s more than a little surprised at the total change in Jack’s demeanor. He shouldn’t be, since he sees Jack in a dominant role every day, but it feels different now that it’s directed at him. Really directed at him, and not just part of the way they talk to each other at work. Gabe is suddenly aware of the man his husband has become. He looks older, somehow. Almost taller. Strong, square-jawed, broad-shouldered and handsome. A man who demands and deserves respect.

Jack locks Gabe in his gaze, holding him with his sapphire-blue eyes as he begins to tease the delicate skin around his asshole. Gabe stares back into those blazing blue suns as Jack’s finger slides inside. His cock swells and aches. Jack is moving his finger slowly in and out, stimulating the most sensitive, intimate part of Gabe’s body. He gasps and drops his head back onto the pillows as Jack pushes another finger inside him.

“Too much?”

Gabe shakes his head.

Jack works him open slowly, stretching him until he feels him yielding to the pressure and ready for more. He hooks his fingers and finds Gabe’s prostate. Gabe moans involuntarily. He’s panting and shaking and his cock is leaking all over his stomach. He wants more. He bucks his hips, trying to get Jack’s fingers deeper, but Jack withdraws them.

“Are you ready, Gabe?” he says softly.

Gabe nods and grips the bedspread anxiously. Jack spreads his ass with one hand and guides his cock with the other. Gabe feels the firm warmth of the head pressing against his tender opening. Jack gazes into his eyes and begins to work his cock into Gabe’s tight, slippery asshole. Jack isn’t nearly so large as Gabe, but he’s well above average. It hurts more than Gabe had expected. He groans through his teeth and Jack stops. He takes Gabe’s hands and kisses them. Strokes his thighs. Waits to feel his muscles relax before he pushes himself deeper. It still aches, but Gabe’s body is adapting rapidly. He nods. Jack thrusts deeper. The pain begins to fade. Deeper. His insides are on fire. Not with pain. With the profound, gut-wrenching pleasure of Jack’s thick, hard cock splitting him open, filling him up, moving inside him.

“Fuck…Jack,” he says breathlessly. “Your cock—you feel so good, baby.”

“You like having my cock in you?” Jack says, with a wicked grin. He gives a twitch of his hips that makes Gabe gasp. “You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” Gabe pants. “Fuck—fuck me.”

Jack thrusts, slow and deep, sliding the entire length of himself inside and pulling it out to the rim before he plunges in again, feeling Gabe’s taut, velvety heat squeezing on his shaft as he moves.

“Harder.”

Jack obeys. Thrusts harder. Faster. Watching those fierce brown eyes watching him. He throws Gabe’s legs over his shoulders and leans into him, lifting his ass higher and spreading him as wide as he can. He reaches out and wraps his strong hand around Gabe’s throat. Gabe’s eyes kindle with red-black fire. He makes a sound halfway between a growl and a laugh.

“Do it,” he rumbles. “Fuck me. Fuck me, cariño.”

Then Jack is holding Gabe down, sinking into his eyes, pounding him ruthlessly. His pale skin is flushed with exertion and slick with sweat. He’s never fucked anyone this way. He _couldn’t_ fuck anyone else this way. He’s too strong and might very well kill a normal human. But Gabe is far stronger than him. He can let go. He can be as brutal as his body is telling him to be. He feels Gabe’s burning hot hole clamping down on him with each thrust. His big, gorgeous cock is in his hand. Jack watches him stroke it as he fucks him. He can’t hold on much longer.

“Baby, holy…holy fuck,” Gabe pants hoarsely. “I’m gonna come. I’m—ffffuck!”

Gabe comes like an atom bomb. A new sun rapidly expanding to consume his entire body. He shakes and groans. Jack watches his cock spasm in his hand, spewing thick, white semen all over the caramel-brown skin on his stomach. He finds himself fixated on this, captivated by the angle of Gabe’s hip, the dark curl of his pubic hair, his swollen cock throbbing on his hard, muscular abdomen, covered in—he gives a sharp cry and goes rigid as Gabe’s fingernails tear into the flesh of his back and then he’s bleeding and shuddering and gasping for air as he comes deep, deep inside him. 

Gabe pulls him down onto his chest and hangs onto him tightly. Jack is dizzy and out of breath anyway, but Gabe is squeezing his ribcage so hard, he can barely breathe. It takes him a moment to realize that his husband is crying. Sobbing, in fact. Deep sobs that rack his large, powerful body. Jack doesn’t ask why. He knows. He holds Gabe in his arms and kisses away his tears.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I love you so much.”

Gabe’s muscles unwind and go slack. He melts into Jack’s chest and lets himself be cradled and caressed and adored.

“I love you, too, Jack. Thank you…for doing this for me.”

Jack sighs. “It was really amazing.”

They lie there together in contented silence, idly stroking each other’s naked bodies.

After a while, Jack says, “So…you want to switch permanently?”

“Not on your fucking life,” Gabe laughs. “How do you do this every time we fuck? I’m a fucking mess.”

“Wait till you have to clean up,” Jack grins.

“God damn it. I should’ve told you not to come inside me.”

“Too late, baby,” Jack says, crossing his arms behind his head. “You’re full of my come and I’m all clean and fresh.”

“Not that clean and fresh. You’re sweating like a whore in Vegas.”

“The expression is ‘sweating like a whore in church,’ Gabe.”

“What would a whore be doing in church?”

“Confessing.”

“Ohhhh. I get it.”

“God you’re a bimbo. Lucky you’re so pretty.”

Gabe raises his head and eyes Jack cagily. “Ok, I’m calling it. You are officially out of control. No more topping for you.”

“I guess fucking you is too much power for one man.”

“You’re already the most powerful man in the world, cariño.”

“And even I can’t handle it. I made you come once and see how fast it went to my head?”

“I’ll just have to put you back in your place.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“I know you would. Not right now, though. I need sugar. There any ice cream?”

“I think there’s a little.”

“Stay here. I’ll bring you some,” Gabe says, kissing Jack’s forehead and hopping out of bed. “Uh…after I visit the restroom.”

Jack lies in his bed listening to Gabe moving about the bathroom, turning on the water. Shutting it off.

“Jesus Christ, baby,” Gabe calls out. “How much come can you actually have? This is ridiculous!”

“Payback’s a bitch!” Jack calls back.

“I’ll bitch you, you little…”

The water goes back on then shuts back off again. He hears Gabe go into the kitchen. The freezer opens.

“Jack! You fucking madman!”

Jack bursts into laughter and climbs out of bed to join his husband in the kitchen. Gabe is standing before the open freezer staring at exactly forty pints of ice cream, neatly stacked in rows of ten, four high. He turns to Jack and gestures helplessly at the freezer.

“You said you wanted some ice cream,” Jack says innocently. “There any left?”

“I’m eating all of this, just so you’re aware,” Gabe say, perusing the white pint containers. “Ooh, Rocky Road.”

“Rocky Road is _my_ favorite. Quit copying me.”

“That why there are like, ten Rocky Roads in here?”

“I don’t know what all there is. I called the creamery and explained what I wanted to do, and they said they could fill an order that size same-day, but I’d have to settle for whatever they had on hand.”

“That explains the Bourbon Cherry. Yuck.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad. I’ll try that one.”

Gabe hands Jack the pint, takes one for himself, and they return to the bedroom to sprawl out and enjoy their frozen treats.

“What’ve you been doing while I’ve been gone, besides supporting the Swiss dairy industry?” Gabe says, carefully scooping a spoonful from the top of his pint.

Jack shrugs and digs haphazardly into his. “Usual. Endless briefings, fighting stupidity at the UN…being nice to Angela…”

“You’re being nice to Angela, huh?”

“Yeah. I talked to Colonel Lawrence and he—”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, baby.”

Jack rolls his eyes, then dutifully swallows his ice cream and continues. “He reminded me how much she’s done for us and he told me all she wants is to know we care about her, too. So, I’ve been trying to treat her like a friend.”

“How’s that working out?”

“Really well, actually. She’s been a lot less combative when we disagree, and I think she’s starting to open up to me. She agreed to let Zenyatta do combat training without a big debate.”

Gabe smirks. “It’s always good to get along with your relatives.”

“How fucking weird is that, by the way,” Jack laughs. “Angela and I are related.”

“It’s not that weird. You’re pretty much the two blondest people on the planet. But you’re not angry that she never told you?”

“No. It’s a pretty distant connection. It wouldn’t have meant much to me to know it back then. It’s the reason she chose me for the HEA program, though. She said she thought I’d respond the best to the treatment, because it was based on her DNA and I was the most genetically similar to her.”

“She mentioned that to me, too. A long time ago. I can’t believe I never put it together that she meant you were actually related to her.”

“I think she keeps expecting us to figure things like that out on our own, and being disappointed when we don’t. And when we never ask.”

“Well, if I’m not disappointing Angela, what am I even doing with my life?”

“She told me something else. She had told me before, years and years ago, but I didn’t understand it then. I do now.”

“What?”

“She said that the things that are…wrong with my brain—the things that make it unique, as she put it—she has those same abnormalities. Her mother designed her brain that way intentionally. That means that all these years, I’ve been thinking I was…” Jack trails off as tears start down his face.

“It’s ok, baby,” Gabe says. He sits up and sets their ice cream on the night table, then wraps his arms around Jack. “Hey, honey, it’s ok. Talk to me.”

“My whole life, I’ve been thinking of myself as…broken,” Jack says, wiping his eyes. “But if Angela’s brain is like mine, then I’m not. I’m not broken. There’s nothing _wrong_ with me. I’m just different and that’s…that’s ok.”

“Oh, Jack, baby,” Gabe sighs, holding him close. “I’ve never, ever thought you were broken or wrong. I love how your mind works. It’s what makes you _you_. I love everything about you.”

“It’s what makes me able to do what I do,” Jack says. “My brain lets me separate Jack from Commander Morrison. I can’t be the Strike Commander and a human being. I wouldn’t survive it. I can’t live with the decisions I have to make and all this…pressure—the whole world looking at me like I’m going to keep them safe—and still function as a person. I didn’t, for a long time. When I’m split like that, I don’t have any pain or self-doubt. No emotional noise to interfere with my thought processes. But I also don’t have any empathy or compassion. You remember how I was before. I was a machine. I was…horrible.”

“You weren’t horrible. You just weren’t…you,” Gabe says. He swallows an aching pang as he thinks of all those years spent staring at Jack’s face under the ice, close enough to touch, but too far away to reach.

“I wasn’t _not_ me. I remember everything from the past ten years. It’s not like I wasn’t fully conscious. But after I lost my family, Jack was too broken to function at all. So my brain did what it had to do. It split Jack and Commander Morrison right down the middle and took Jack away to wait until I was strong enough to survive.”

“I know,” Gabe whispers, holding Jack tighter. “I know, baby.”

“Then I fell in love with you,” Jack says softly. “I fell in love with you all over again. You brought me back.”

“I almost fucked everything up beyond repair, is what I did. Angela was fucking furious, and I don’t blame her. I can’t believe I was so stupid, carrying your ring around with me like that.”

“I’m so sorry about your ring, Gabe,” Jack sighs. “I don’t have everything back yet, I know, but that’s the one thing that just kills me. I’ve tried and tried to remember what I did with it but I just can’t.”

“These are just things, baby,” Gabe says, kissing Jack’s left hand. “I have you back and that’s all that matters.”

Jack leans into his chest and turns the ring on his finger. “We’re never allowed to wear them anyway. You know how careful I have to be to never leave this room with mine on? If anyone saw this, the news media would collectively shit itself to death.”

“Gross, baby. But yeah, they would. Then you’d have to bribe Beckett to pretend you two were married and then we’d have to stage an elaborate charade, and that would certainly end in wacky hijinks.”

“Have you been watching Weekend at Bernie’s again?”

“It was on TV one night in Hanamura. It was dubbed in Japanese though.”

“You know, you can choose the language on the holovid.”

“What?”

“They all do it. You just have to ask it to switch to whatever language you want.”

“Are you telling me I have been watching terrible movies in other languages for years, and all I had to do was _ask_ the holovid to switch?”

“Yeah. Jesus, Gabe, you really are still living in the twentieth century.”

“I’m an old man. I can’t keep up with all this newfangled technology. They keep changing everything and no one tells me.”

“It’s not all bad, though. Remember condoms?”

“Those fucking things,” Gabe shudders. “Don’t remind me.”

“We never used them when we were together.”

“No, we didn’t, and that was really fucking stupid. I can’t believe the dangerous shit we did when we were kids.”

“Well, on balance, it was nothing compared to the dangerous shit we do as adults.”

“Hey, I mean that, though. It was fucked up of me not to wear protection with you. I mean, I knew I was clean, but…that must have been scary for you. I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t know I was,” Jack shrugs. “It must’ve been just as scary for you.”

“I actually…didn’t care that much. I was kind of trying to die back then.”

“Well, I hope thirty-odd years in the military got it out of your system, cause you’re not allowed to die, now.”

“Oh, I’m not allowed?”

“Nope. I’m keeping you. No dying. That’s an order.”

“Ugh. Fine. I’ll try not to die,” Gabe says. “But only cause you’re too sexy to leave unsupervised.”

“Why do you always think everyone’s trying to fuck me the minute your back is turned?”

“My son did.”

“How is Jesse? Is he ok? He went through a lot on that simple little recon mission.”

“He’s totally wrecked. Poor kid. The Shimada boy was a fucking heartbreaker, just like I said.”

“Here we go again about the Shimada boy. I really don’t get what makes you both so crazy about him. He’s cute, but…”

“When did you see Hanzo?”

“You sent me a picture of him and Jesse and Oberkampf.”

“That was Genji, baby. The little brother.” Gabe climbs over and digs his phone out of his jeans pocket, then taps the screen and hands it to Jack. “That’s Hanzo.”

“Oh,” Jack blinks. “Holy fucking shit.”

“Yeah. I told you.”

“He is…beautiful. Jesus.”

“Alright, alright,” Gabe grumbles, trying to snatch his phone. “He’s nineteen and you’re a married man.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy looking at him,” Jack says, holding it away. “Besides you’re the one who’s been going on about him like he’s a renaissance painting.”

“That’s the boy that broke my son’s heart, you know. And actually he’s only eighteen, you dirty old man.”

Jack relents and hands the phone back to Gabe. “Have you talked to Jesse?”

“Not really, no.”

“Gabriel Reyes!”

“What? I didn’t want to seem like I was hovering. I wanted to give him some space and let him talk to me when he’s ready. Plus, I was really busy…with the mission and…I’m in trouble now, huh.”

Jack massages his brow with his fingers, as if he has a sudden headache. “Gabe, I am going to explain this very slowly, so that you can understand it. Jesse is a child. He is _your_ child. He does not need space, he needs you. So if you don’t want me to actually toss you in the brig with my own two hands, go and talk to your fucking son!”

“But…”

“But what?”

Gabe grins sheepishly. “We don’t have a brig. Only ships have those.”

Jack’s narrows his eyes. “Athena!”

“Yes, Commander,” the AI’s voice lilts through the intercom.

“Have the Security Lockup officially renamed the Brig.”

“Very well, Commander,” Athena replies sweetly (Gabe could almost swear she’s enjoying this). “Security Lockup has been renamed as follows: Brig. Memo sent to staff. Will there be anything else, Commander?”

“That’s all. Thank you, Athena,” Jack says, still glaring at Gabe.

“My pleasure, Commander,” Athena chimes.

“Wow, baby,” Gabe says. “That was…so hot.”

“Don’t you ‘baby’ me, Gabe. Go talk to your fucking son.”

“It’s the middle of the night, Jack. I’ll talk to him first thing tomorrow. I promise.”

“Ok. Fine. First thing tomorrow. No excuses.”

“No excuses.”

 

 

Since Commander Reyes won’t allow them to stay and unload the TAAV, Claudia and Jesse grab their personal bags and head for the main building. As dictated by his simple, native courtesy, Jesse walks Claudia to her room before heading to his.

“Hey, Jesse,” she says, as they stop at her door. She reaches into her bag and pulls out the red gift box Jesse had tossed into the back of the SUV. “I hope you don’t mind, but…I grabbed this for you.”

Jesse shakes his head firmly. “Naw. I don’t want it.”

“It’s not from Hanzo. It’s from Genji,” she says, holding it out to him. “I helped him pick it out myself, and he’d be really upset if you didn’t get it.”

“Oh. Well, that’s real thoughtful of you, Claws,” Jesse says, accepting the little box. “Thanks.”

“Come on, open it!” she says eagerly.

Jesse undoes the black ribbon and lifts the lid. He blinks for a moment then laughs out loud.

“You little rapscallions! What’s this for?”

“It’s cause you’re the baddest-ass motherfucker we know,” Claudia grins. “You like it?”

“I love it,” Jesse says, lifting the petite woman off the ground in a big bear-hug. “Thanks so much, Claws. You’re the best.”

“You gonna wear it to work?”

“I’m gonna wear it every minute of every day,” Jesse says. “You get some sleep, now, ok darlin’? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Ok, Jesse. Goodnight. And text me if you need anything, ok? Any time. I don’t mind.”

“I will. Thanks, Claws.”

Jesse tips his hat and strolls off toward the lift to take him up to Residential J-1. He tosses his bag on the bed and looks around at his room. He finds he can’t stand the sight of the place. The furniture is tasteless, angular mass-produced crap. The grey carpet is hard and rough, compared to the springy tatami mats in Shimada Castle. The lights are too white and cold and artificial. Maybe he’ll get a real oil lamp to warm things up. And put some red in here somewhere. He shakes his head and sighs. The place is a lost cause. No amount of decoration is going to make this pre-furnished studio apartment feel like an ancient castle in Japan.

He takes out his phone and types a message.

Jesse: Hey Genj I really like the present thank you so much

Almost immediately, his phone chirps.

Genji: Jesse! I am so glad you like it! Claws and I chose it and she said that you would. Are you well? How was your journey?

Jesse: I’m ok but times all screwy so I’m real tired. Can I call ya tomorrow?

Genji: Of course. I will speak with you tomorrow. Goodnight Jesse!

Jesse: night Genj

Jesse smiles to himself at his friend’s tenacious cheeriness. He wishes he could pretend to be half as cheerful as Genji seems to be. He knows the boy must be putting a lot of it on for his benefit, but he can’t help but feel a little envious of Genji’s irrepressible nature. He strips off his travel clothing and tries to enjoy his hot shower, but everything here is so sterile and impersonal and…lonely. He leans his forehead on the cold tiles and weeps till he can’t produce another tear. Then he dries his body halfheartedly and pulls on a fresh pair of red boxer-briefs. Hanzo had called them strange. His stomach turns with anguish.

Hanzo. His sweet, soft, lovely Hanzo. The gentlest and cruelest being in the world. He remembers with a hollow pang that he’s also lost his guitar. The first thing he bought with his own money after he became a real-life Overwatch Agent. There were better ones in the shop, but he bought it cause it was just like the guitar his mama had given him. The one that died in the firestorm the night Commander Reyes and his men came and killed everyone Jesse knew. But the Commander didn’t know about the guitar. Jesse bets he’d have gone and gotten it, if he had. He has evidence to back this theory, too.

A month into his stay at Swiss HQ, Commander Reyes had taken him down to the garage and shown him his cherished bike, black and glossy and better than new. The Commander had made sure they brought it with them from New Mexico and had it all polished and fixed up for him. He’d been beside himself with surprise and delight and had actually hugged his terrifying Commander. He realizes with a jolt that the man he is thinking of is his father. He hasn’t had time to thoroughly process that yet. Maybe he’ll get used to it one day.

That’s what he needs to do. He needs to get the fuck out of here and just ride. Like he used to when the loneliness and horror would start weighing on him too heavy and he’d sneak out of the Pit and ride for hours. He checks the time as he dresses. 22:12. It’s a lot earlier than he’d thought. He removes his Deadlock buckle from his leather belt and laughs as he attaches the big, brass BAMF buckle from Genji and Claudia. He loves those two little rascals like a brother and sister.

He walks down to the garage and throws his long leg over the saddle of his bike. The last time he rode out he was going to see Ben. He wonders how Ben is doing. He hasn’t heard a word from him since that first night in Hanamura. Maybe he’ll see what he’s up to. Not to fuck or anything, just to say hi. He’s most likely working, though. He takes out his phone again.

Jesse: Hey Ben I’m back from Japan. I ain’t heard from you in a spell an I just wanted to say howdy an see how you’re doin

He doesn’t expect to hear back anytime soon, so he slides his phone into the breast pocket of his plaid shirt, then zips up his leather jacket and rides out into the cool, clear, windy night. Despite his genuine intention of riding out along the mountain roads, he finds himself gradually making his way down toward Geneva, as if compelled by some outside force. As he rolls into the city, he thinks he’ll stop by the old Rawhide anyway. What’s the harm? Besides, there’s nothing soothes a broken heart better than a bunch of bare-chested cowboys serving whiskey.

He walks in the door and instantly feels like he’s home. He smiles and stops for a moment, soaking in the atmosphere of the familiar place. The big, brawny waiters, the energetic dance music, the lively clientele, and of course, there’s Karl, grinning like a thousand-watt bulb and waving his towel. Jesse grins back and saunters up to the bar.

“Howdy Jesse!” Karl says, shaking his hand enthusiastically. “You are back! I have missed you so much!”

“Hey there, sunshine.”

Jesse smiles and leans indolently on the bar, but his senses are already on high alert, rapidly deconstructing everything in his line of sight. Something is off about Karl’s greeting. His smile is very slightly forced. His tone is almost too jovial. Strained. He’s hiding something. Scared of something.

“Whiskey?” Karl grins, already filling the glass.

“You know it, sugar,” Jesse drawls, taking out a cigarette. He lets his eyes wander casually around the room. “Say, Karl, Ben don’t happen to be workin’ tonight does he?”

“Oh…no,” Karl says awkwardly. “I am sorry, Jesse. He—well…he is on vacation for a little while. But what are you doing back so soon? You said you were going to be away a whole month.”

“Aw, Karl,” Jesse says, feigning disappointment. “I thought you was happy to see me.”

“I am!” Karl laughs. “I was only making conversation.”

“That’s alright darlin’. I like havin’ a nice conversation. So, how ‘bout you cut the bullshit and tell me what the fuck is wrong.”

Karl steps back as if Jesse has struck him. But he recovers and resumes his ebullient attitude, scrubbing the spotless bar with his towel.

“Nothing is wrong, Jesse,” he says brightly. “You can see that things are going very well. Business is very good and—”

“Karl,” Jesse says quietly, swirling his whiskey around in his glass. “I ain’t a man you wanna lie to.”

Karl drops the cheery façade instantly. He actually trembles and looks as if he’s going to cry. “He…he made me promise not to tell you, Jesse. I am so sorry. He made me promise.”

“It’s alright Karl,” Jesse says patiently. “I ain’t mad at you. Who made you promise?”

“Ben. He…he didn’t want you to find out.”

“Why don’t we go have a little chat in your office, sweetheart. Don’t want the customers seein’ you upset.”

Karl nods nervously. He waves a waiter over to take charge of the bar and leads Jesse up the stairs behind the stage to his office. He sits down at the desk and immediately bursts into tears, covering his face with his hands. Jesse sits in the chair across from him and leans back, calmly sipping his whiskey.

“I am sorry for lying to you, Jesse,” Karl sniffles. “I didn’t want to do it, but Ben absolutely insisted. I think…he feels he will be humiliated if you know.”

“I forgive you, Karl. But I’m runnin’ outta patience real quick. You best tell me what this is about, and you best do it lickety-split.”

“There was a man who—who visited here, maybe a week after you left. A Greek investment banker named Baltsaros Tsakilidis. He is very wealthy and very well-known. Some of the boys have said in the past that he has seemed a little too aggressive or wanted them to do uncomfortable things, but he never did anything that was strictly against the rules or behaved violently before. I never would have allowed him back in here, I swear it. I care about all the boys so much.”

Jesse’s jaw clenches and his vision begins to go red.

“I know you do, Karl,” he says slowly, his voice husky with suppressed rage. “Just tell me what happened.”

“He made an appointment with Ben. I warned Ben about Tsakilidis, but he didn’t seem concerned. After…after he had been in with him for a while, Johann came running down to me shouting and frantic that Ben was in trouble. I told Marco to call the police and we ran up there and I unlocked the door. We…we grabbed the man and pulled him off Ben. He was bleeding all over from his nose and mouth and—” Karl breaks off and chokes down a sob. “We held Tsakilidis until the police got here and arrested him. They made Ben give a statement before I could drive him to the hospital. It was so dreadful, Jesse. He could barely speak. He is…his face is all black and purple and swelled up. My dear blonde Benny boy. Mutter Gottes.”

At the thought of sweet, pretty Ben, beaten and in pain, Jesse’s blazing wrath takes a deadly turn. It freezes like black venom in his blood. His mind clears. His muscles relax and go languid. Now, he is a cold, calculating killer. A serpent waiting to strike.

“What happened after that, Karl,” he says softly. “I know it’s hard, but you gotta talk to me.”

“Then the police came to the hospital. I told them Ben could not speak to them, because his jaw is wired closed, but I witnessed the incident and I would tell them everything they wanted to know. They said that they had come to arrest Ben. Tsakilidis had his lawyers file charges against Ben for assault. They claimed that Ben had tried to steal from him! My Ben! I was so furious I nearly tore the warrant to pieces. They came in and told Ben he was under arrest. They could not move him because of his injuries, so they handcuffed him to his hospital bed and left an officer to guard him. As if he could go anywhere in that state.

Then Tsakilidis, that piece of pestilent filth, he sent a lawyer to the hospital. He said that Ben must drop the charges and sign an affidavit releasing Mr. Tsakilidis from any wrongdoing, or they would have him prosecuted for assault and attempted theft and have him deported. And…and they said they would sue me too and shut down my bar. I told them to try it then. I have done nothing wrong. They said it wouldn’t matter. They would keep fighting me in court until I was bankrupted and ruined.”

“Karl, tell me you didn’t—”

“Of course not!” Karl exclaims, his brown eyes sparking with indignation. “What kind of man do you think I am, Jesse? I begged Ben not to sign the papers. I pleaded with him. I begged him to let me call you and ask you to help. But he would not listen to me. He signed all the papers and now that miserable vermin scum is walking free, while my sweet little Benny boy is suffering so much. His modeling is ruined, jesse. He will never be able to go back. He was so happy and full of life and now he is so hopeless and…and…”

Karl breaks down weeping again and buries his face in his hands. Jesse finishes his whiskey, sets down the glass, and lights a cigarette.

“Can I ask you a question, Karl?”

“Of course, Jesse,” Karl says, wiping his eyes with his bar towel. “Anything.”

“Why’d you wanna call me? What made you think I could help?”

“Jesse, please,” Karl says incredulously. “Do you think I do not understand who you work for? You brought Commander Jack Morrison into my bar.”

Jesse grins. “I knew you wadn’t fooled by that cousin story.”

“I…I am sorry, Jesse. I should have called you. But Ben was so angry when I said I would. He said he would never speak to me again.”

“I understand, Karl. But anything like this happens again, you better call me. I’m a damn sight scarier’n Ben when I’m mad.”

“Thank you, Jesse. I will. I promise. You are so kind to me.”

“I’m gonna have to talk to Ben. He still in he hospital?”

“No, he is recovering at home. His roommate, Luisa, is looking after him and I go to bring him soup and fruit juices and things every day.”

“What’s the address?”

“Oh, Jesse…he will be so very upset with me for telling you. He will never forgive me.”

“I reckon he’ll forgive you just fine. Either you give it to me, or it’ll take me about twenty seconds to have my intel people get it for me. But then I won’t owe you a favor.”

“Ok, ok, Jesse,” Karl says, grabbing a pen and hastily scribbling the address on a business card. “Here. It is a few kilometers away in Eaux-Vives.”

“Thank you kindly, Karl,” Jesse says, rising from his chair. “I’ma make everything alright. I promise.”

“I know you will, Jesse. Thank you. I am so grateful for your help. But…what are you going to do?”

“Don’t you worry about that, darlin’. I’ll see you soon.”

 

 


	88. BAMF

Baltsaros Tsakilidis is bored. He is bored to death of Geneva’s bars, clubs, and that stupid lake. Most of all, he’s bored of these weathered, jaded professional whores who walk around dressed as if they are teenagers when any idiot can see they are closer to thirty than twenty. It’s revolting. He wants something…fresh. Young. Tender. Like that sweet, blonde confection at the Rawhide Saloon. Someone a little less fucking mouthy, though.

Or maybe not. He knows how to shut them up when they start getting too sure of themselves. He likes it when they put up a fight, anyway. The pretty little bitch had fought so hard. It was too bad they’d got into the room before he’d had a chance to fuck him. He likes doing it when their will is broken. Especially if they cry. He chuckles to himself. It was almost sad, the way the whore had thought the police would help him. The law is the same as everything else in this world. For sale.

He takes out his silk handkerchief and mops his wide brow, sweating profusely in the heat of the crowded night club. He stuffs it back into his breast pocket, then picks up his tiny glass of sherry in his big, beefy paw. He scans the room, surveying the hip, lively scene. Nothing. He sighs and shakes his head wearily. This place was supposed to be the best spot for…wait. What do we have here?

A few spaces down from where he sits, a boy is picking up a drink from the bar. A young, gorgeous boy. Suntanned and tall. White t-shirt displaying his athletic body to stunning effect. Tight blue-jeans hugging his muscular ass. The boy smiles at the bartender, parting his pouting lips to display a row of perfect white teeth. Baltsaros Tsakilidis has found his entertainment for this evening. He knows a pro when he sees one, and this boy is almost certainly a pro. But he is so bright and wholesome. Probably fairly new to the game. He will be an absolute pleasure to devour.

He smooths his thinning black hair over his scalp and watches the boy, who is sipping his drink and looking about over the rim. Looking for a trick. Baltsaros knows that look. He heaves his bulk off the bar stool and saunters over in that direction. He leans on the bar near the boy, trying to suck in his gut and look casual at the same time. The boy casts a sidelong glance at him and smiles. The confirmation Baltsaros was looking for. A whore for sure.

“Excuse me, young man,” he says, in his thick, Greek accent. “Do you know where a gentleman might find a little bit of fun around here?”

The boy eyes him coyly from under his eyelashes. “How much fun, exactly?”

Thank god. He speaks English. Baltsaros hates German and French and refuses to speak them.

“Something like…five-hundred francs worth?” he says.

The boy grins. “I think I might know of somewhere. You want to go…check it out?”

Baltsaros gives the boy an oily smile and downs his sherry. “Let us go, then.”

The boys drains his glass as well, sets it on the bar, and follows him out the door. Baltsaros tries to grope him as soon as they are outside, but the boy steps nimbly back.

“Wait a minute. Not right here in the street,” he says. He glances about. “The alleyway there. Come on.”

The boy walks quickly away into the dark alley, forcing his obese, middle-aged trick to trot after him. It takes Baltsaros’ eyes a moment to adjust to the dark, then he sees the boy a few yards away, leaning on the wall, beckoning to him. The man lumbers over to join him. He tries to get his hands on him again, but the boy stops him.

“That’s cash up-front darlin’. Don’t act like I’m some kinda fool.”

Baltsaros blinks. The boy seems to have suddenly developed a very bizarre accent. No matter. He won’t be doing much talking in a minute. He pulls out his wallet and begins to thumb through the bills.

“Hold up a sec,” the boy says. “Ain’t you…Balto…Baltoso…Baltsaros Tsakilidis?”

“I am,” Baltsaros says, taken aback. “How the fuck do you know my name?”

“You’re…like a…investment banker or somethin’, right?”

“Yes,” Baltsaros says shortly. “And you are a whore. What does it matter.”

“You’re just the fella I was lookin’ for then.” The boy’s broad grin twists into an absolutely poisonous sneer. “You’re the fella likes to beat up whores and have your lawyers threaten ‘em so they too scared to stand up to you.”

“I see what this is,” Baltsaros snaps, shoving his wallet back into his pocket. “That idiot pimp at the Rawhide Saloon sent you to harass me, did he? Well, you can tell him he just signed his little whorehouse’s death warrant. I will ruin him. How dare you come to me with this foolishness. Do you know who I am?”

“I know who you are,” the boy says coolly. “But I reckon you ain’t got the faintest clue who I am.”

“Oh yes? Tell me then. Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m Jesse goddamn McCree. And you are a dead man.”

“Listen to me, Jesse god damned McCree,” Baltsaros says, his big, sweaty face red with rage. “I will tell you what is going to happen. I am going to beat the shit out of you. Then I am going to fuck you senseless. And when I am done with you I am going to send you back to your friends in fucking pieces!”

Much to Baltsaros’ consternation, the boy throws his head back and laughs.

“That’s pretty good, Balto,” he says. “You wanna beat the shit outta me, do ya? Come on and try it, then. I’m your huckleberry.”

Baltsaros roars and charges at the boy like a bull, with surprising speed for a man of his bulk (he had been a fairly competent wrestler in his day). But the boy steps lightly aside and sends him sprawling on his face with a swift blow to the back of the head. Undeterred, Baltsaros clambers to his feet. He whips about to make another rush at the boy, but freezes dead in his tracks. He is staring down the barrel of a big, silver revolver. He throws his hands up in the air.

“What—what the fuck is this,” he says in a tight, panicked voice. “Don’t do anything rash, now. I…I have money. I will give you everything I have on me. Three thousand francs. And I will leave your friends alone. I swear.”

The boys squints as if he’s considering this. “I don’t know, Balto. I’d like to believe you, but…I just ain’t in a trustin’ kinda mood.”

“Please,” Baltsaros says, falling to his knees and actually trembling with fear. “Please, don’t kill me. I’ll give you anything. Anything you want.”

“I don’t reckon there’s much I want you can give me. But I’ll tell you what I’ll give you.” The boy uncocks the hammer and lowers the revolver to his side. “I’ll give you a minute to make peace with whatever god I’m fixin’ to send you to.”

“I—I don’t believe in any god.”

“That makes things simpler, then, don’t it.”

Before Baltsaros can blink or even take a breath, a single, skillful shot from the heavy revolver has put an end to his earthly toil.

Jesse pulls out his phone and taps the screen. He waits for a moment. “Agent McCree for a cleanup. Single disposal. Number seven Rue du Jeu-de-l'Arc, alley behind the Velvet club. I won’t be on scene. Yep. Thanks.”

 

 

 

The Overwatch senior staff, including Commander Reyes, are assembled in the conference room attending to the morning’s briefings. Blackwatch doesn’t give mission reports, as per their status as the black-ops branch of Overwatch, but as the second-in-command, Gabe is still expected to be aware of general Overwatch operations. He attends these briefings out of respect for Jack, and sometimes he even sits all the way through them. Usually typing on his phone the entire time. Today is different. Captain Amari isn’t sure what’s gotten into him, but he seems to be paying attention to this meeting. Even enjoying it. She eyes him furtively as Commander Morrison goes on about…something. The annual spike in minor injuries to staff during the summer season. Riveting. So why is Reyes so interested?

“…and because of that,” Jack is saying, “it’s important to brief all your departments about following proper safety procedures when under…uh…undertaking…” he trails off distractedly and looks down at his tablet.

“Undertaking what, Commander?” Reyes says, with a wicked twinkle in his eye. “I didn’t catch that last part.”

“I—uh…when undertaking high-risk activities such as mountain climbing, skydiving, and…so forth,” Jack says, the color heightening in his cheeks with each word. “That’s all. On to Captain Amari.”

“Thank you, Jack,” Ana says, glancing at Commander Reyes.

He’s sitting there looking as innocent as he possibly can (which is to say, not very) and Jack is practically hiding behind his tablet. While she delivers her update on the Paris COR, she watches both of them. She’s pretty sure she sees Morrison glance over at Reyes and then quickly away at least once, but Reyes has his face in his phone now and isn’t even pretending to pay attention. When the meeting adjourns, he hops out of his seat and leaves the room without looking up from his phone’s screen.

“Hey, Jack,” Ana says, joining him as he passes by on his way out. “How are you doing? Everything ok?”

“Oh, hey, Ana,” Jack smiles. “I’m great. How are you?”

“Quite well. Are you sure everything is alright? You seem a little…distracted today.”

“Me? Oh, no, I’m just…I’ve got a lot going on with the Paris COR opening and the vote at the UN and everything, I—I…” Jack’s phone vibrates as he is speaking. He glances at it and turns absolutely pink. “Would you excuse me, Ana? I’m so sorry. I’ve got…a thing.”

With that, he departs briskly down the hall, leaving Captain Amari standing there with her mouth open, about to reply. She crosses her arms and sighs. What on earth has gotten into him?

Jack walks down the hall as quickly as he can without attracting undue notice. His phone chirps in his hand again.

BWR-002: I’m not going to wait all day, cariño.

Jack feels his ears burning and he is certain he must be as red as a beet. He smiles and nods cordially as he passes people, hoping they don’t notice. He rounds the corner toward the elevator, thinks the better of it, and practically bounds down the back stairwell to Sub-Basement 1. Commander Reyes’ team is on leave, so their offices are closed and the place is almost deserted. He peers up and down the hallway anyway, then slips into Reyes’ darkened office. A big, strong hand grips him around the throat and pushes him into the door, banging it shut behind him.

“What took you so long,” Gabe growls.

He’s already unbuckling Jack’s belt, reaching inside, gripping his cock. Jack is rock-hard and practically frantic with desire. He works his hands up underneath Gabe’s tight, black t-shirt and claws at his back, as his needy, searching tongue pushes Gabe’s mouth open. He bites Gabe’s lower lip and tugs on it, their hot breath mingling as Gabe strokes and fondles him.

“Suck—suck me,” Jack pants.

Gabe drops to his knees. His hot, wet mouth finds Jack’s aching cock. He takes the whole thing in one deep, slow swallow, till it hits the back of his throat. Jack grabs his head with both hands and thrusts, fucking his mouth until he feels himself nearing the edge. He pulls out abruptly.

“Wait…wait,” he says, gasping to catch his breath. “I want to fuck you.”

Gabe gets to his feet and presses his body into Jack’s. He leans in close so his lips brush against Jack’s ear. “Fuck me, then. What do you want, an invitation?”

Jack grabs his husband’s shoulders and pushes him toward the desk. He turns him around roughly and bends him over it. Yanks down his pants and underwear. Spreads him open with his thumbs. He pauses.

“We haven’t, uh…prepared or anything, Gabe.”

“I’m ready for you, baby,” Gabe laughs. “Trust me.”

Jack slides his thumb around the opening of Gabe’s hot, already-slick hole. “Oh, you weren’t kidding.”

“No. Now fuck me before I change my mind.”

Jack holds his rigid cock and guides it slowly inside, shuddering with the intense pleasure of the tight, squeezing resistance on every inch of his shaft.

“Oh…oh fuck,” he groans. “Gabe…you feel so fucking good.”

Gabe grunts and bucks back into him. “Fuck me!”

Jack grabs his hips and snarls, thrusting viciously, knocking Gabe into the desk with each sharp plunge. A lamp topples off and hits the floor with a crash, followed shortly by a stack of papers, then a coffee mug. Jack does not notice any of this. He’s in a near transcendent state. Oblivious to anything but the potent, intoxicating sensation of fucking Gabe’s taut, perfect ass. Beating his insides with his cock like an animal in heat. It’s unlike any sexual experience he has ever had. Raw, exhilarating…addictive. It’s all he’s been able to think about since they did it the other night. He finds himself distracted in meetings and unable to concentrate. Daydreaming about Gabe. Crushing on his husband like a teenager.

He feels Gabe’s legs shaking. He reaches around and wrings his thick, heavy cock as he fucks him. As they fuck. As they move together, like two connected parts of a unified whole. Gabe gives a hoarse cry and stiffens up, jerking and twitching as he spurts onto desk in front of him. Jack is almost there. The aching pressure is building past the breaking point. He gives a few more deep, savage thrusts, then yanks his cock out and comes in warm bursts all over Gabe’s ass.

He stands there dizzy and panting, holding his dripping cock in his hand. It’s dark in Gabe’s office, but there’s more than enough light coming in under the door for his enhanced eyes. He gazes down at the milky fluid spattered across Gabe’s smooth, honey-brown skin.

 _Beautiful_ , he thinks dreamily. _Gabe is so beautiful_.

Gabe laughs. “Jack, can I get up now, please?”

“Oh, sorry,” Jack says, stepping back. “I was just…looking at you.”

Gabe turns around and raises an eyebrow. “Looking at my ass, you mean. How dare you. I’m not a piece of meat.”

“You’re my piece of meat,” Jack says drowsily. He stumbles over to the couch and flops onto it. “Come here. I want to hold you.”

“I’m covered in your come, baby,” Gabe says, pulling some tissues out of a box on the desk. “All this cleanup is pretty fucking annoying.”

“Yeah, but it’s worth it,” Jack sighs. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby,” Gabe says.

He lowers his body onto Jack’s and wraps his arms around him. Jack strokes his hair lazily while they doze together, fucked-out and blissful in each other’s arms. He’s never felt so close to Gabe. Never felt the connection so deeply. When Gabe isn’t near him, he feels his absence pulling on him like a physical tug in the middle of his chest. Trying to draw him back to the one he loves.

He buries his nose in Gabe’s short, dark hair and breathes deeply, infusing himself with his warm, familiar scent. He loves him so much it aches. He would happily die for this man. No. He’d live for him. For the first time since he woke up into this endless nightmare, Jack is truly happy to be alive. He wants to live. For Gabe.

“Gabe.”

“Hm?”

“Did you talk to Jesse yet?”

“No. He wasn’t around this morning either.”

“Aren’t you worried?”

“No, baby. Jesse can take care of himself.”

“Gabe—”

“I texted him, Jack,” Gabe laughs. “He’s fine.”

“What did he say?”

“He called me an old hen and said he reckoned he could run some errands in the city without me holding his hand.”

“Well…ok. I just hope he’s not blowing off steam by getting into trouble.”

“What makes you think he’d be getting into trouble?”

“He’s your son.”

 

 

 

Jesse’s big, black-and-chrome bike roars down the busy Route de Frontenex, lowering to a rumble as he slows to turn off onto the Rue des Vollandes in Eaux-Vives, another trendy, bohemian area of Geneva. People are all about the tidy streets, shopping and dining, and enjoying the bright, sunny weather. A few turn and glance at the tall, handsome young man as he parks his bike in front of a stylish high-rise apartment building. He takes a brown paper bag out of the saddlebag and ambles up to the door. He presses a number on the call-box.

After a moment, a woman’s voice answers. “Salut.”

“Howdy,” Jesse says, looking into the camera. He’d stopped to purchase some sports drinks and fruit juice and things on the way, and he holds the bag up. “Luisa, right? Karl sent me over. From the Rawhide? I got some things for Benny.”

There is another pause. “Ok, one moment.”

Jesse hears the door buzz and pushes it open, then takes the lift to the the sixth floor and walks down the hall till he finds the brass placard reading 610. Ben’s apartment. He takes a deep breath. Ok. He knocks briskly and hears footsteps approach, then the locks being undone. A tall, exotically beautiful, black-haired young woman (almost certainly a fashion model like Ben) opens the door a crack and looks him up and down. With his cowboy hat and striking good looks, she has every reason to believe he is indeed from the Rawhide Saloon. She opens the door for him to come in and then shuts it behind him, putting a finger over her lips.

“Ben is resting,” she says quietly. “He is not asleep, but I try not to make a lot of noise and disturb him.”

Jesse sets the brown paper bag carefully on the counter. Luisa thanks him and begins to put the things into the refrigerator.

“How’s he doin’?” Jesse says. “I heard he was in a pretty bad way.”

She shakes her head and her pretty face contorts with grief. “He is…very bad. I…I don’t know if he will ever be the same, Monsieur…what is your name?”

“Jesse. Pleased to meet you, Luisa.”

“Likewise. It was so kind of Karl to send you. He has been every day to see him. It is so horrible what that man did to him. And now he is afraid he will be deported and lose everything.”

“Ain’t none of that gonna happen,” Jesse says. “That bad man…well, I got a feelin’ he ain’t gonna be botherin’ anyone anytime soon.”

“Who can say,” Luisa says, not understanding what he means. “I hope he will not.”

“Can I…do you think I can see him?”

“He does not like to be seen, as you can imagine, but I will ask him.”

“Ok.”

Luisa goes into the hallway and opens a door. Jesse hears her say, “One of your friends from the Saloon is here. May he come in?”

She turns to Jesse and beckons, pulling the door closed.

“Try not to be shocked,” she whispers. “It is very bad.”

Jesse nods and swallows hard. Then he opens the door and steps into Ben’s airy, cheerily lit bedroom. The windows are open to let in the sunshine and admit the fresh breeze. Ben is sitting in bed propped up on his white pillows. Jesse’s stomach drops and his chest constricts. Ben’s pretty face is unrecognizable. It is a mass of purple and black bruises. His right eye is swollen shut. There are bandages wrapped around his forehead and big, ugly stitches across the bridge of his nose. When he sees Jesse, he turns his head away quickly, motioning for him to go. He can’t speak, Jesse recalls, because his jaw is wired shut.

“Ben, I’m so sorry,” Jesse chokes, unable to control his tears. “I’m so sorry I wadn’t here.”

Ben shakes his head, still refusing to look at him. Jesse goes to his bed and kneels down beside it. He takes Ben’s hands in his and kisses them.

“Ben, please. Please look at me.”

Ben turns his head reluctantly. He looks down at Jesse through the bright blue eye that is not swollen shut. A tear rolls down his battered face. This is too much for Jesse’s tender heart to take. He climbs into Ben’s bed with his boots and everything on and takes the boy in his big, strong arms. Ben collapses into the embrace and shudders with silent sobs as Jesse cradles him and rocks him gently.

“Sweetheart, I am so sorry,” Jesse whispers. “I woulda done anything to have been here to protect you. But I ain’t never lettin’ anything like this happen to you again. Never.”

Ben lifts up his hand and touches Jesse’s handsome face. He nods slowly, another tear running down his bruised cheek. Then he lays his head on Jesse’s chest and gives a long, trembling sigh.

“I know, darlin’. I know. You can rest easy now. I’m here and I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Jesse holds his battered, broken friend in his arms, listening to his slow, labored breathing as he drifts off into unconsciousness. After a while, Luisa quietly opens the door and looks in. Seeing Jesse holding Ben in his arms, she smiles gratefully and nods to him, then tiptoes out and closes the door behind her. Jesse lies there considering his next move. He wants to take care of Ben, but he’ll feel humiliated by Jesse’s pity and resist. He hadn’t even allowed Karl to tell him what had happened. Jesse isn’t equipped for that kind of complicated emotional tango right now. But he bets he knows who is.

He lifts Ben and carefully lowers him onto the bed. Ben gives a weak groan and grabs hold of Jesse’s wrist.

“It’s ok, sweetheart,” Jesse says softly, stroking his blonde hair. “I ain’t leavin’ you. I’m just gonna use the bathroom and I’ll be right back. Can I bring you anything?”

Ben shakes his head and relaxes back into his pillows. Jesses slips out into the living room, where Luisa is reclining on the leather sofa, sipping a cup of tea.

“How is he?” she asks, as Jesse enters.

“I don’t know,” Jesse says. “I never seen a fella beat up like that. I took a thrashin’ or two in my time, but that was…pure cruelty.”

“The cruelest part is that he meant it to be ugly like that,” Luisa says angrily. “He meant to make Ben ashamed to show his face. He took away his livelihood. He doesn’t want to fuck old men for money to pay his bills. But his career is ruined. Now…how will he go back to modeling after this.”

“The doctors…can’t they do anything for him?”

“They can restore basic function. But he can’t afford all of the surgeries and things it would take to make his face normal again.”

“I thought Swiss public health care was the best in the world.”

“It is very good, but Ben is a foreign national on a work visa. He is not entitled to all of those benefits. And he won’t let Karl loan him the money. Don’t even ask. I tried to talk him into it, but he won’t listen to me.”

“Karl needs to grow a backbone when it comes to Ben,” Jesse says, almost irritably. “Why’s he such a pushover about this kinda thing?”

“You know Karl. He just cannot stomach anybody being angry with him. He is very soft.”

“I’ll say.”

“It makes him a good boss, though. He is very kind. He gives Ben all sorts of time off for his—his modeling jobs—” she breaks off and covers her mouth.

“It’s all gonna be ok, Luisa, I promise. But you and me are gonna have to get together on this. We gotta agree to do what’s right for Ben, even if he don’t like it. Can you do that for me?”

“I can,” she says, dabbing her eyes with the sleeve of her grey cardigan. “But what can we do?”

“I got a doctor friend who can take a look at him. Would you mind if I gave her a call and asked her to come over right now?”

“Would she come to see him all of a sudden like this?”

“She’s a real close friend.”

Luisa considers him closely. “Jesse…you don’t really work at the Saloon, do you.”

“Naw, I don’t. Sorry about that. I was worried Ben wouldn’t let me see him.”

“It is alright. Ben is lucky to have a friend who isn’t afraid to give him a little tough love. He needs it sometimes.”

“Thanks, Luisa. I’m gonna step into the hall to call my friend, ok?”

 

Jesse’s doctor friend arrives in a what Luisa considers to be an astoundingly short time and instantly takes charge of the situation. She takes the hospital release forms from Luisa and reads through them as she walks briskly into Ben’s room. She introduces herself to Ben, informs him in no uncertain terms that he is now under her care, and begins to unpack her medical equipment. Jesse and Luisa hang about in the living room feeling a little useless, and a lot relieved that someone who knows what to do is taking care of things.

The doctor pops her head out. “Jesse, go and draw a hot bath for Ben. Luisa, darling, put the kettle on.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Luisa says, trotting off to the kitchen.

“He wants a bath?” Jesse says, not quite comprehending the sudden change in the situation. “And…tea?”

“The tea is for me, my dear. I am removing his maxillo-mandibular fixation now, but he should not have hot beverages until the tissue knits thoroughly.”

“You takin’ out his jaw wires? I thought them papers said they was supposed to stay for eight weeks.”

“Please, Jesse, if you are only going to stand around and question my orders all day, I will send you away and Luisa and I will see to him. Now run along and draw the bath. Very hot. But not scalding. We are not intending to boil him like a lobster. And set out some fresh towels.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jesse calls back, already on his way down the hall.

In Ben’s room, Dr. Ziegler is tapping the screen on a rectangular device and rapidly scanning through whatever information it is relaying to her. Ben sits meekly watching her, waiting to be told what to do. Her manner is gentle and kind, but also completely authoritative and inexorable. She hadn’t even given Ben a chance to think about objecting to her care. She had simply walked in and informed him of how she was going to handle his treatment. Her aura is so comforting and reassuringly professional, that he can’t help but begin to hope that maybe she will be able to make him whole again.

“Everything appears to be very good,” she says, smiling sweetly. “Now, let us remove those medieval torture devices from your mouth, shall we? I do not understand why such a thing is still used, but…” she trails off and shrugs dismissively.

Ben fidgets anxiously as she removes what looks to him to be an _actual_ torture device from her case. She sees this and lays a reassuring hand on his arm.

“Do not be frightened, my dear. This thing looks scary, but it is only to extract the fixations from your dental arches. You will experience absolutely no pain. I promise.”

Ben nods and breathes a little more easily. Until she removes another thing from her bag that appears to him to be a small grenade.

“This is a biotic field charge,” she explains. “It will prevent pain, but it is much better than anesthesia at a hospital, because it will accomplish several other things, as well. It will eliminate any chance of bacterial infection, and it will actually stimulate cell growth and regeneration to heal your wounds at the same time. There will be a little flash when I activate it, but do not be alarmed. That is how it works. Are you ready?”

Ben nods and tries to look brave. Dr. Ziegler presses a switch on the top of the grenade thing and there is a bright flash, followed by a shimmering yellow-gold glow, which persists as she works. Ben instantly feels the pain in his back, ribs, jaw, and face melting away and being replaced by a warm, tingling sensation, as if he is experiencing a very low-level static shock.

“Does that feel better?” the doctor asks. Ben smiles as best he can. “Very good. Now, little pinch. You will feel pressure, but no pain.”

She pushes his lips apart and does something with the device that loosens the wire holding his jaw shut. She slowly draws out a long, thin, silver wire and drops it on the floor. Then she opens his mouth and tells him to keep it open as wide as he can. He feels a weird, pulling sensation and then a pop as the each of the mandibular fixation appliances come out of his dental arches. At once, the warm tingling from the biotic field concentrates and increases inside his mouth. He makes a face and works his jaw.

“How does that feel?” she asks. “Everything alright?”

“Y…yes,” he says slowly and with a bit of a lisp, due to his missing teeth. “It feels strange. Like…pressure in my jawbone.”

“That is perfectly normal. The biotic field is repairing your internal structures. What you are feeling is your body growing new bone cells at a highly accelerated rate. Let us get those stitches out now, so they don’t leave an ugly scar.”

Ben submits to this simple procedure, then squeezes his eyes shut as the doctor takes something that looks like a laser gun out of her bag and uses it to close the gash across the bridge of his nose.

“Excellent,” she says. “All done.”

Ben reaches up suddenly and gingerly touches the right side of his face. “My eye…I can see from my right eye now.”

“The swelling has been greatly reduced,” she says, smiling gently. “You are almost beginning to look like you again.”

“Doctor,” he says, in a shaky voice. “This is so kind of you. But you have to know…I don’t—I don’t have very much money—”

“No,” she says flatly, shaking her platinum curls. “I will hear no talk of that kind. As if I would think of accepting money from a friend of my dear Jesse. How do your ribs feel? Are you able to breathe normally?”

He leans back and takes a slow, cautious breath, then another. Then he breaks into a brilliant smile and breathes deeply. “There’s no pain at all. I can breathe again.”

“Very good,” she laughs. “Breathing is quite important.”

He laughs, too. A sunny, musical laugh that touches a deep thread in her heart. She thinks she is beginning to see what Jesse likes about this boy. Maybe it isn’t just that he looks like Jack, after all.

“Your teeth are important too,” she says. “Unfortunately, the biotic field cannot regrow them. But, once your other injuries are fully healed, we will get you some dental implants that will be even better than your old teeth, alright?”

He nods again, unable to speak, this time from an overpowering upwelling of emotion. Tears roll down his bruised face and he hangs his head.

“Why…why are you and Jesse doing all of this for me?” he says hoarsely. “I’m not worth it. I’m just…I’m just a whore who got beat up by a rough trick.”

“Benjamin, listen to me,” she says sternly. “You are not a whore. You are a human being. Your profession does not define you any more than the clothing you wear. It is nothing. Luft. Do not refer to yourself as ‘just a whore’ again, or you will have me to reckon with. Are we clear, young man?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ben nods obediently. “We’re clear.”

“Good. Now, my dear…we must talk about your face,” she says. “Your bones are being healed, but the biotic field itself will not return them to their original condition. It will be much better than if we had left you to heal the way whatever bungling excuse for a surgeon who worked on you at the hospital did, but it will not be perfect. We can accomplish a perfect return to your original bone structure, but it will be an entirely different process. Your damaged facial bones will have to be re-broken and surgically re-set. I am more than willing to do this for you, but it will take several procedures over a period of months. This is in order to allow the swelling to go down and let each part heal fully, so that we can observe our progress before we move on.”

The color drains from Ben’s cheeks. “I…I don’t know,” he says slowly, his lower lip beginning to tremble. “How bad is it? Do I even…look like me…?”

“Oh, I am so sorry, Ben,” she says, recognizing her error. “It is not so bad as all that. You are still a very handsome young man. You must forgive me for frightening you. My mind works in precise calculations, and I often forget that others do not think this way. I can see the very slight discrepancies in the angles and proportions as if there is a diagram overlaid on your face. In general, however, you do not look very different at all.”

“But…how do you know what I looked like before?”

“There are photographs of you everywhere,” she says. “You are a fashion model, my dear.”

Ben smiles sheepishly. “Oh, right. I should’ve thought of that before I asked.”

“You should take some time to think, before you decide whether you are willing to subject yourself to a lengthy medical treatment. If it is worthwhile to you, we can begin any time you choose. If you are satisfied with how you look now, then that will be that.”

“I’m definitely not satisfied with how I look now,” Ben laughs.

She smiles. “I mean once all of the swelling and bruising is gone, of course.” As she is speaking, the biotic field clicks off, and the yellow-gold glow fades from the room. “Ah, there we are. All done. Now, if you are feeling well enough, I have had Jesse draw you a hot bath. It will do wonders for your sore and stiff muscles.”

“Doctor,” Ben says, as she helps him stand on shaky legs. “Thank you so much. I can’t tell you…I can’t tell you what this means to me.”

“Don’t mention it,” she says affably. “It really was the least I could do for a friend of Jesse.”

“How do you know Jesse, anyway? He doesn’t seem like…the kind of person who knows a person like you.”

“That is…a long story,” she sighs. “A very, very long story. Perhaps I will tell you, sometime. But right now, let us get you into your bath.”

Jesse and Luisa look up as the doctor enters the living room, followed timidly by Ben.

“C'est pas possible!” Luisa exclaims, nearly dropping her cup of tea. She sets it down hastily and rushes forward to embrace Ben, continuing to exclaim through happy tears. “Quel soulagement! Merci, docteur! Merci, merci!”

“De rien, de rien, mon cher,” Angela laughs. “Je t’en prie.”

Jesse stands there with his mouth hanging open. Ben’s face is almost entirely free of swelling. The big, ugly gash across his nose is gone. His eyes have dark circles under them, his face is very pale, and there is still a lot of bruising, but he looks like Ben again.

Finally, Jesse manages to say, “Wow.”

Ben smiles bashfully. “Hey, Jesse. I…I can talk now. So, I guess the first thing I should say is thank you.”

“I ain’t done nothin’,” Jesse says, still wide-eyed. “The doc here’s a goddamn miracle worker.”

“She is just a competent physician,” Angela says archly. “And she has ordered her patient into the bath. Luisa, will you help Ben to the bathroom, my dear?”

“Oui, Madame Docteur,” Luisa says. “Come along, minou. Let us get you all squeaky clean and then you can talk to your friend.”

Dr. Ziegler pours herself a cup of tea as the two go down the hall. Once the bathroom door is shut, she turns to Jesse. “Jesse, Ben’s broken teeth will need to be replaced by implants. Bring him to my office in a week, and I will have that done for him, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jesse nods. “Thank you ma’am.”

“It is nothing, my dear. He is your friend. Go and collect my equipment while I drink my tea, would you?”

Jesse goes to Ben’s bedroom and packs up Dr. Ziegler’s equipment. When he brings her bag back out to her, she hangs it over her shoulder, takes her coat, and steps to the door.

“I will make myself scarce while Ben is bathing,” she says. “I am not good with a lot of thank yous and all of that.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you for real, though. I…I wadn’t sure you’d come and it—it just means a lot to me that you helped him.”

“Jesse,” she says quietly. “I hope that animal who did this to your friend gets what is coming to him. I would hate to see him harm another innocent person.”

Jesse’s eyes glint fiercely. “I reckon he won’t be hurtin’ nobody anymore, ma’am.”

“Good. I will see you later, my dear,” she says, kissing Jesse’s cheek. “Take care of your friend.”

“I will, ma’am. Thank you.”

 

Jesse is on the balcony smoking and gazing out at the bustling city, when he hears a noise and turns. Ben comes slowly out the door and shuts it, then stands there awkwardly, looking as if he’s not sure what to do. He’s wearing a pale pink, v-neck t-shirt and grey linen pajama pants. Despite his bruises and the dark circles beneath his big, bright-blue eyes, he looks absolutely beautiful. Jesse smiles, even as his heart sinks with regret. He thinks maybe he could have loved this boy, if things had been different. Now…he can’t love anyone, ever again. No one but that cold and distant god who holds his heart captive in a castle far away across the sea.

“Hey there, darlin’,” Jesse says softly. “You look about as pretty as a picture. How you feelin’?”

“You don’t have to say that,” Ben says, smiling shyly. “I’m feeling a lot better. I actually feel amazing, considering. Your doctor friend is…she’s an angel.”

“Yeah, I hear that,” Jesse laughs. “You should see her with her wings on.”

Ben laughs, too, not fully comprehending the joke, but glad to have a reason to laugh again.

“So, how was Japan? Did you singlehandedly eradicate tax fraud in the land of the rising sun?”

“It was…somethin’ else,” Jesse sighs. “I liked some of it. Some of it I liked less. We got the job done. I guess that’s all there is to it.”

“Oh, I thought you went on your own,” Ben says, purely by way of making conversation. He doesn’t know yet, how fraught the topic is.

“I went on my own, but my boss had to come himself and sort some shit out last-minute. We just come back night before last.”

“Yeah, I got your message. I didn’t want to tell you what happened, but I didn’t know how to pretend everything was ok, so I just…didn’t answer. I’m sorry.”

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for. I didn’t really deserve an answer, after the way I treated you.”

Ben frowns. “What do you mean? You were always really kind to me.”

“I wadn’t, though, and I know it now,” Jesse says. “I been through some things lately made me start thinkin’ different. I don’t like how I look when I think about how things went between us.”

Ben shakes his head and looks away, gazing out over the city, as Jesse had been doing.

“I treated you bad, Ben, I did,” Jesse continues. “Usin’ you like that and actin’ like we were all square ‘cause I paid my bill. I told myself I was tryina do right by you, but I was really just thinkin’ of myself. I never thought about how I might be makin’ you feel.”

“I know what I am, Jesse. I’m a whore. Men pay me to have sex with them.”

“Men like me shouldn’t. Men who know you’re better’n that. You wadn’t ever just a whore to me and I’m ashamed of myself for makin’ you feel like one. I wanna be a real friend to you, if you’ll let me. Will you…will you forgive me?”

Ben nods and wipes away a tear. “Yeah. I forgive you, Jesse. Thank you.”

Jesse pulls the shorter, slighter boy into his arms and holds him tight. Ben closes his eyes and sighs deeply.

“Ben, will you do somethin’ else for me?”

“Anything.”

“You swear?”

Ben, a more wary young man than some others, looks up and studies Jesse’s face. “I don’t know. Tell me what it is first.”

“I don’t want you to go back to work at the Rawhide. I don’t want you to do that kinda work ever again.”

Ben bridles at this. “Jesse, I have to pay my bills. You might not think it’s a respectable profession, and I know it isn’t. But I have to eat and I need a roof over my head, just like you do.”

“Listen, darlin’, I know I ain’t got much moral high ground, here, but I don’t think you understand me yet. When I say I don’t want you doin’ that kinda work no more, I mean I don’t aim to let you do it. How could I let you go back to somethin’ like that makes you feel so worthless and hate yourself so much, when I can see plain as day how amazing you are?”

“What do you mean you’re not going to let me?” Ben asks, drawing away. “You’re not…I’m grateful for what you’ve done for me, but you can’t tell me what I can and can’t do, Jesse.”

“I can and I will, if it’s what I gotta do to keep you safe. Stop. Let me finish. Luisa’s your friend, too, and she don’t want you goin’ back to that life, neither. We both know what that means, and we’re both gonna do what we can to make sure you don’t have to. Don’t you worry about feedin’ yourself and payin’ bills. That’s all squared. Your rent’s paid up for the next six months and Luisa’s gonna cover food and whatnot for a while. After that—”

“You…you gave Luisa the rent for six months? How? How do you have money to throw away like that?”

“I didn’t give her nothin’. I was fixin’ to, don’t misunderstand me, but it wadn’t me. Dr. Ziegler went to your landlord on her way out and done it herself. See?”

Jesse gets out his phone and shows Ben the message from Angela, to that effect. Ben stares dazedly at it for a moment.

“How…why?”

“I reckon she don’t want you doin’ that job no more, neither. So that’s three against one. You wanna fight us all on it?”

“I…guess not,” Ben says uneasily. “Dr. Ziegler…she doesn’t strike me as a woman I’d like to lock horns with.”

“God damn right she ain’t,” Jesse grins. “Even my boss is scared shitless of her—though he’d never own to it—and he’s the scariest man on the planet.”

“Scarier than you?”

“Me? Yeah, but I ain’t scary at all, so that’s an easy one.”

“You are, though…a little.”

Jesse starts to laughs at this, then pauses, seeing that Ben appears to be in earnest.

“Wait…I ain’t really scary to you, am I? I don’t mean to be.”

“But you are, Jesse. Not like, I think you’d hurt me or anything. But…you’re not the way you pretend to be. I can just—I can tell you’re someone it would be unwise to cross. You’re…a dangerous man.”

Jesse gazes keenly at Ben from those fierce, amber-brown eyes. “I’m only dangerous to the bad guys, darlin’.”

Ben holds his gaze and stares right back, undaunted. “What do you really do, Jesse?”

“I kill people for a living.”

“What kind of people.”

“Bad men with guns who want to kill other people and take what they ain’t got a right to.”

“You’re…a cop or something?”

“I’m a black-ops agent for the most powerful military organization in the world.”

“And what you were doing in Japan was…”

“Bustin’ up a Yakuza syndicate and makin’ an ally out of another one.”

“Holy…holy fucking shit,” Ben says, staggering. “This is true. You’re…you’re telling the truth.”

Jesse catches him and wraps his arms around him. “Hush, darlin’. It’s ok. I’m one of the good guys. And I ain’t never gonna let the bad guys hurt you again. I promise.”

 

 


	89. The Reyes Clan

“That’s—ah—not fair,” Jack pants. “That’s not fair, Gabe. You can…ah! You can hold out forever.”

Gabe grins that wicked, shark-toothed grin and rocks his hips, sliding his unbearably delicious heat up and down the length of Jack’s throbbing, tormented cock.

“Not fair?” he says. “Why would I play fair when I’ve got you exactly where I want you, cariño?”

“Please,” Jack groans, almost whimpering. “I can’t…please let me come, I can’t take it!”

“I’m not finished with you, Jack.” Gabe bends over close to his ear. His low, thrumming murmur and hot breath make the hairs on Jack’s neck stand on end. “Make me come, baby. Then maybe I’ll let you.”

Jack spits into his hand (unnecessarily, as Gabe’s cock is leaking like a faucet) and wraps it around his thick, heavy shaft. Gabe gasps as he circles the swollen, sensitive head with his thumb. Jack stares up at him, raking his eyes ravenously over his husband’s magnificent bronze body, burnished in the fire of decades of brutal combat. He’s beautiful. Perfect. Jack half forgets his own gratification in the exquisite pleasure of watching Gabe. His big, veiny, gorgeous cock, slick and rigid in Jack’s hand. His large, muscular thighs gripping Jack’s waist. His angular hips rolling, his broad chest expanding with each deep inhalation, then the chiseled muscles of his stomach tightening and contracting with each exhalation.

“Fuck…baby,” Gabe pants. “I’m so fucking…so fucking close.”

Jack squeezes Gabe’s cock and strokes it harder. Faster. Gabe’s thighs grip tighter. He bucks forcefully up and down, taking Jack’s cock to the hilt each time he drops his weight onto it. He falls forward suddenly and engulfs Jack’s mouth with his, groaning into it as he comes. Jack feels his hot, tight insides pulsing and constricting as his cock spews warm fluid all over their stomachs. Jack digs his thumbs into the hollows of those perfect hips and pounds his cock up into Gabe’s twitching, trembling hole. He grits his teeth, almost foaming at the mouth. Beads of sweat roll down his forehead and neck. Gabe pushes his head to one side and draws his tongue teasingly across his exposed throat.

“I’m—gonna come soon—” Jack grunts, through his clenched teeth.

“Come inside me,” Gabe purrs into his ear.

He bites viciously into Jack’s neck, sinking his teeth in deep, spilling blood down Jack’s shoulder and onto his white pillow. Jack’s senses shatter, vision black, body quaking uncontrollably, as he comes harder than he ever has in his life. Then he lies there dazed and delirious, cock still spasming with overstimulation, trying to remember how to breathe. Gabe laughs, that low, predatory, lion’s laugh and laps his tongue over the quickly-closing gash in Jack’s neck. Jack laughs croakily in response. His throat is parched and hoarse from the exertion. The ecstatic high fades slowly away, melting into calm, blissful contentment.

He strokes Gabe’s back with his fingertips, raising goosebumps on his smooth, exasperatingly dry skin. Gabe never seems to sweat. It’s completely unfair. The sheets and pillows are drenched with Jack’s. He feels himself starting to doze off as he is thinking this. He really should get up and take a shower but…he surrenders, sinking into peaceful oblivion beneath Gabe’s warm, heavy body.

After a few minutes, Gabe disturbs him by sitting up. Jack looks up dreamily into his husband’s face. He opens his mouth to say “I love you,” but what comes out is a half-strangled cry of pure, animal terror. He throws himself backward, pushing Gabe away as hard as he can, but he can’t move him. He may as well be a concrete wall. He stays firmly seated astride Jack’s hips, pinning him to the bed with the impossible weight of his body. His hair is long and wild and streaked with silver, and it hangs down over his chest. He gazes down at Jack from inky-black irises with a hellish red glow where his pupils should be.

“What’s wrong, Jack?” he says tranquilly. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Jack screams, writhes, beats at him with his fists, but Gabe catches his wrists in his inexorable iron grip and forces them down to his sides, holding them there as if it is no effort at all. His lips aren’t moving now, but Jack hears his voice, coming to him faintly as if from somewhere far above.

“It’s ok, baby, it’s me,” he is saying urgently. “Jack, baby, please wake up.”

Jack jolts into consciousness as if lightning has struck him. Gabe is still pinning his wrists to the bed, but it’s his Gabe now. Not the monster with Gabe’s face. He’s looking at him with pain and alarm in his deep, beautiful, brown eyes. Jack’s mind clears. He knows that Gabe is only holding him down because he has been in one of his episodes. The instant Gabe sees Jack come back to him, he lets go and scoops him up in his arms. Jack curls up and buries his face in his chest, shaking and weeping like a child. It’s the first episode he’s had since the one after his call with Lydia, the only one he’d had while Gabe was away.

 

At 0735, the next morning, Gabe is neatly trimming his facial hair while Jack showers. He has to keep wiping steam from the mirror, but he doesn’t mind. He enjoys these little domestic moments, where they get to pretend to be a normal couple for a while.

“Hey, baby, what do you think,” he calls over the noise of the shower. “Should I just shave it all off?”

The curtain is yanked open and Jack’s dripping, indignant face glares at him in the mirror.

“I fucking dare you,” he says, then yanks it shut.

“I think I might. Just for a change.”

The curtain opens again. “Don’t test me, Reyes. I’ll do it.”

“Ha! You wouldn’t.”

“I renamed the Security Lockup the Brig to win an argument with you, Gabe. I’m not afraid to change the grooming regulations to require you keep your facial hair, too.”

Gabe is laughing at this, when his phone vibrates on the counter with an incoming call. He looks at the screen and frowns. It’s from BW-OpsDiv.

“I guess I’ll have to keep it for now. I gotta take this,” he says, stepping out of the bathroom. “But don’t think I won’t call your bluff!”

He walks out onto Jack’s balcony and taps his phone’s screen. “Reyes.”

“Morning, sir. Sorry to bother you on leave like this, but…well, actually I’m not that sorry.”

“You will be, if you don’t watch your mouth,” Gabe laughs. “What’s up, Vasquez?”

“I just sent you an RDO. We got a disposal called in from Agent McCree. I wouldn’t hassle you with this shit, but we have to report it to you since he’s technically on leave, too.”

“Well, you know us,” Gabe says offhandedly. “We’re never _really_ on leave.”

“I hear that, boss,” Vasquez says. “No rest for the wicked, right?”

“Damn right,” Gabe says. His phone vibrates with the incoming documentation. He glances at it briefly. “Suicide, huh? You fuckers are getting lazy. I’m gonna have to come down there and whip you into shape.”

Vasquez laughs. “Hey, there’s only so many ways to skin a dead cat, boss. All kosher?”

“Yep. Thanks Vasquez.”

“No problem, sir.”

Gabe slides his phone into his pocket and steps back in through the balcony door.

“Who you talking to?” Jack asks, taking a spoon out of his mouth.

“Intel. Just some Shimada follow-up stuff. Jack, tell me you’re not eating ice cream for breakfast.”

“I’m not eating ice cream for breakfast.”

“I can see that you are doing that very thing, baby,” Gabe says, crossing to Jack and taking away the pint. “Eat some real food or you’re going to make yourself sick.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Jesse was right. You really are an old hen.”

Gabe opens the refrigerator to disguise a wince at hearing Jesse’s name immediately after the call he just received.

“There’s not even any actual food in here, Jack. What do you do when I’m gone? Eat ice cream for every meal?”

“No, I use the mess. That’s what it’s there for.”

Gabe cranes his neck down and kisses Jack’s cheek. “You’re so cute with your terrible taste in food. I gotta go. I’m gonna try to catch Jesse before he fucks off to who knows where for the day.”

“Good. Go. I expect a full report,” Jack says, as Gabe heads into the bedroom to finish dressing. “I’ll see you tonight. I have a meeting in ten minutes and every ten minutes thereafter until I die of boredom.”

“Ok,” Gabe calls back down the hall. “Later, baby.”

He pulls on a clean black t-shirt (he keeps most of his clothes in Jack’s room now), grabs his hoodie, and goes down to Jesse’s room. There’s no answer at the door, so he presses his thumb to the plate, speaks his access code aloud, and enters anyway. He and Commander Morrison are among the very few officers with this entry privilege, and the staff are made aware of it when they are assigned quarters. Still, he feels like an asshole going into his son’s room uninvited. Like a snoopy old dad with boundary issues. Most snoopy old dads aren’t snooping because they’ve just been casually informed that their son killed a man, though. Jesse’s snoopy old dad has.

He glances around the place, sees immediately that Jesse’s revolver is missing from the holster hanging on the back of his chair, and exits the room before he gets to feeling any more guilty about being in there. Ugh. He feels another pang of guilt for so easily lying to Jack, too. But his knee-jerk reaction had been to protect Jesse, which also means protecting Jack from whatever Jesse has done. This isn’t a father-son kind of protective instinct, it’s how Blackwatch operates. The hard and fast rule is not to tell the blue boys anything they don’t strictly need to know. Violations of Overwatch protocol are standard Blackwatch procedure. Jack knows this. He also knows that in order to give him deniability and insulate him and Overwatch from any potential fallout, he won’t be informed of most of what they do. Jack is still his husband, however, and Gabe still feels like shit for lying to him.

He taps Jesse’s contact icon on his phone and makes the call. That little fuck had better have a damn good reason for putting him in this position. No answer. He’s getting more pissed off by the second. Now he has to spend his day finding his errant agent and sorting this shit out. He toys briefly with the idea of sending an armed extraction team to grab Jesse and yank him out of wherever he is, but mostly by way of amusing himself. If he wanted to blow the kid’s cover and make him a dead asset, that’d be the way to do it. He really just wants to find out quickly what Jesse is up to before he does anything stupid. He taps his phone and places another call.

“Intel. Agent Padilla,” a woman’s voice answers cheerfully.

“Hey, Padilla,” Gabe says. “Ping Agent McCree’s body tracker to my phone, would you?”

“Sure thing, boss,” Padilla says. “Is Jesse ok, sir?”

“Yep. We’re playing hide and seek and I’m cheating. Don’t rat me out.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, boss,” she laughs. “Anything else?”

“Nope, thanks.”

 

 

 

Jesse sits up abruptly and blinks groggily in the bright sunlight. Hm. He’s not at the castle. But he’s not in his own abysmal excuse for…right. Ben’s place. It’s a kind of nice middle ground. It’s a big, classic, downtowny type of place with parquet floors and white walls and built in shelves that give a chic, vintage feel to it. It also has an extraordinary number of windows. Actual wood-framed ones that you can open all the way by sliding up and down, and let in the fresh air and sun. Ben’s room is a rather large, oblong space, and pretty sparely furnished. Ben is, after all, a very busy young man in his twenties, and furniture has not been his priority.

His bed is a large, downy square on a platform frame against the wall in the center of the room, covered with white linens and huge, fluffy pillows. He’s got a desk with a computer and a chair (not that specific chair, though Jesse wonders vaguely where that one went), a vanity with a mirror and a little stool, and not much else. There is also a huge walk-in closet, but this doesn’t interest Jesse in the least. What does catch Jesse’s interest is the single, tall bookshelf near the desk. It is packed to bursting with books of all kinds, even some stacked on the top and on the floor beside it. Who knew pretty little Ben was such a reader.

The bedroom door is open and Jesse can hear Ben and Luisa chatting together in the kitchen. Most importantly, he can smell the rich, enticing aroma of fresh-brewed coffee. He’d spent a very chaste night in Ben’s bed, holding his friend and soothing him through a long bout of crying. Ben’s spare pajama pants had been tried on and found to be comically undersized, so Jesse slept in his underwear. It doesn’t occur to him to get a shirt on before he goes to investigate the coffee situation, but he at least remembers to pull on his jeans.

He strolls into the kitchen and plops down onto one of the barstools, smiling sleepily up at Ben and Luisa, who are talking in rapid, lively French.

“Good afternoon,” Luisa says, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “You sleep so late, mon loup. We thought perhaps you were hibernating,”

“Afternoon ma’am,” Jesse says. “What’s ‘mon loop’?”

Ben looks at Luisa, who giggles. “Ah, mon loup is just a French way of saying…sexy boy.”

“It means wolf,” Ben grins.

Jesse blinks for a moment, then blushes red as an apple. He instinctively reaches up to pull his hat down, but he doesn’t have it on, so he just hangs his hair over his face. This sets his friends laughing, and earns him kisses on both cheeks from the merry pair.

“Hey Luisa, I couldn’t help but notice that fresh coffee smell,” he says. “Any chance a fella could get a cup?”

“Of course,” Luisa says brightly. “How do you take your espresso?”

This is a conundrum. Jesse furrows his brow thoughtfully, then decides. “I reckon any way I can get it, ma’am.”

“That is an excellent answer. Do you take any cream or sugar?”

Jesse grimaces and shakes his head.

“That’s an even better answer,” Ben says. “You probably want to brush your teeth first, though. There’s a spare toothbrush in the bathroom cabinet.”

Jesse gratefully takes advantage of this and then rejoins his friends in the kitchen. He finds a big, steaming mug full of the most delicious coffee he’s ever tasted waiting for him. Luisa calls it a café allongé. He is ruminating on how he put up with the swill he’s been drinking all these years, when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He digs it out. Fuck. There are three missed calls from Commander Reyes and two messages. The first reads, “Where the fuck are you.” The second, from just now, reads, “Come down here unless you want me to come up there and get you.”

“Shit,” Jesse says, going quickly to the window.

“What is it, Jesse,” Ben says, losing a little color in his face. He joins Jesse at the window and looks out.

“See that fella down there leanin’ on that black caddy? That’s my boss.”

“Oh my god,” Ben says. “That’s your boss? The scariest man on the planet?”

“Yeah, that’s him.”

“He is…so fucking hot. Lulu, come here! Look at Jesse’s hot boss!”

Luisa trots over and looks out. “Oh, la vache! Il est très beau!”

Jesse wrinkles his nose. “I don’t know about all that ‘tray bo’ business, but I guess y’all entitled to your opinion.”

“Invite him to come up,” Luisa offers hospitably. “We will all have coffee together!”

“I think I better go talk to him a minute first. He looks kinda mad.”

“How did he know where we live? And that you were here?” Ben asks.

“Sorry about that. He’s got a…way of findin’ me when he needs to. I’ll be right back.”

Jesse grabs his t-shirt and hurries downstairs barefoot. Ben and Luisa remain peering out from behind the curtain as he walks out to meet Gabe. He puts his hands in his pockets and the older man crosses his arms, saying something with a stern face.

“I hope Jesse is not in trouble,” Luisa says. “But look at the two of them together. They look somehow the same, no?”

“Yeah, they do kind of look alike,” Ben says thoughtfully. He wonders what kind of boss comes to an employee’s friend’s home in the middle of the day on a weekend. Maybe that’s just the way top-secret spy organizations do things.

“I would like to see them a little _closer_ together,” Luisa says, eyeing the handsome pair admiringly.

Ben gives her arm a playful pinch. “Hey, gay men aren’t objects for your amusement. Don’t fetishize us.”

“Oh, please. I only make money because men like to look at me and think of having sex with me. Is it so very wrong for me to like seeing pretty boys kiss?”

“I’ve been on your computer, Lulu. I know you like to see them doing more than that.”

“That is very true,” she says, returning her attention to the window. “But, alas, I do not think that these two are like that together. C’est la vie.”

 

Down in the bright, sunny street, Jesse strolls out to meet Gabe, looking as nonchalant as possible.

“Howdy, jefe,” he says, stuffing his hands into his jeans pockets. “Already got to missin’ me, did ya?”

“Don’t howdy jefe me, Jesse,” Gabe says shortly. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I been havin’ a thing called a café Alan Jay with my friends. It’s just about the best coffee I ever had. What you doin’?”

“Cut the shit, cabrón. I mean you called in a disposal. I had to lie to Jack about it this morning and I’m not happy about it. You better have a damn good reason.”

Jesse pulls out his phone, taps the screen a few times, and hands it to Gabe. Gabe’s irritated frown freezes on his face. The image he is looking at is a photo of Ben’s face, taken by the police at the hospital.

“Who the fuck did this to him?”

“A dead man,” Jesse says, sticking a cigarette in his mouth.

Gabe hands him a lighter. “Any witnesses?”

“Come on, jefe,” Jesse says indignantly, puffing out a cloud of smoke. “What you think I am, a fuckin’ amateur?”

“Security cameras?”

“Turned out they was malfunctionin’ that night.”

“Which I.D. you use?”

Jesse flashes a roguish grin. “They didn’t ask for any.”

“Pendejo,” Gabe says snatching the cigarette out of his mouth and drawing on it. “Did you make him suffer?”

“No, I done it quick and professional. It wadn’t revenge, boss. It was justice.”

“Justice and revenge aren’t always different things.” Gabe lets the smoke trail up out of his mouth and nostrils and curl into the air around his face. “I think I’d have taken my time with that one.”

“Well, I shoulda called you, then.”

“You should’ve called me anyway. You think I wasn’t going to find out?”

“I wadn’t tryina hide it, boss. Why would I do a damn fool thing like callin’ in the crew to pick up after me if I was tryina keep it a secret? I ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”

“You did do something wrong, Jesse. You didn’t tell me. I would have helped you. And Ops wouldn’t have called me this morning to ask about it and I wouldn’t have had to lie to Jack.”

“But it ain't like you was gonna tell him anyway. Even if I told you first. What’s the difference?”

“The difference is that it was a verbal lie I had to tell him in person. I have to keep things from Jack as part of my job, and the only way I can live with myself is by avoiding having to lie to his face.”

“Sorry, boss. I didn’t think about it that way.” Jesse sidles up to Gabe and leans against the car beside him. “Everything ok with you two?”

“Yeah,” Gabe says irritably, as Jesse takes his cigarette and puffs at it. “We’re fine. Everything’s fine.”

“Yep. That’s what people always say when everything’s actually fine.” He hands it back and eyes Gabe sidelong. “Everything’s fine with me, too. Thanks for askin’.”

Gabe massages his brow and then laughs. “Ok, that’s fair. I kind of left you hanging in Hanamura, didn’t I.”

Jesse shrugs. “You was workin’. I don’t blame you for the fact you was workin’ with…with that person.”

“What happened between you two? I half expected you to tell me you were quitting Blackwatch and staying in Japan.”

“I guess him and me had different priorities. One of ‘em bein’ he was fixin’ to get married and ain’t told me.”

“I’m sorry, Jesse. I found out about the engagement while I was helping him with the transition, but it wasn’t my place to tell you. I hope you understand.”

“I know it wadn’t. You ain’t responsible for anything he did.”

“But…it’s only an arranged marriage for political purposes. You two could still have been together. I mean…that’s basically how the aristocracy have done things for thousands of years.”

“No, we couldn’t,” Jesse says flatly. “I’m worth more’n that. I ain’t gonna be a side piece for someone who don’t love me enough to wanna be with me in front of god and everyone.”

Gabe looks down at his cigarette, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Oh—boss, I didn’t mean it like that,” Jesse says, flushing with embarrassment. “It’s different with you and Commander Morrison cause y’all was married already. All this shit’s somethin’ you agreed to together.”

“It’s ok, Jesse. I know what you meant. But Jack and I didn’t agree to this. It’s something that was forced on us because of his position. He can’t be the squeaky-clean role model to millions of kids that their bigoted, homophobic parents expect him to be, and be openly married to a Latino man. Hanzo was in a similar position. The clan would never have allowed an openly homosexual man, married to another man—and an American, no less—to be Master. The other families would’ve eaten them alive.”

“I know you’re right, boss. I guess I just keep thinkin’ maybe things’ll change. But if fellas like you and Jack can’t change people’s minds, I reckon no one can.”

“Things are always changing,” Gabe says. “It just takes a lot longer for people to admit it than it should.”

Jesse laughs bitterly. “Fuckin’-a right it does. I guess I better not wait around for the Yakuza to start acceptin’ pansexual Latino Americans into their noble families any time soon.”

“They still don’t even let women run the families, so yeah, don’t hold your breath. But I bet if they did give the ladies a crack at it, things would change. Women are always on the frontlines of social evolution, even when it’s not about them. They’re a lot less selfish than us.”

“I’m tryina be less selfish. Y’know, think about other people and all that. I been so used to watchin’ my own back and lookin’ out for myself, though. It ain’t easy learnin’ to think a whole other way. But I’m tryin’.”

“That’s good to hear, mijo. I’m proud of you,” Gabe says, gazing approvingly at the tall, handsome boy. “But, Jesse…I don’t think I would have wanted you to end up in a relationship like that, anyway. It would have been hard on you.”

“I love him. Don’t you want me to be with the one I love, just like you are?”

“Of course I do. But I want you to be happy, too. You’re very independent and strong-willed, Jesse. I think being with a person like Hanzo would be hard on you because no matter…no matter how equal your partnership is, when your partner is a powerful public figure—when all of society places a higher value on him than on you—you’ll always be in a subordinate role. His needs will have to come first and you will have to submit yourself to serving his interests and sacrificing your own. You’ll have to be willing to give more than a hundred percent and be prepared to accept that no matter how much he loves you back, he will never fully belong to you. I may just be saying this because I’m…your father, but I wouldn’t want that for you.”

“Ain’t you happy with Jack, though? Ain’t he worth it?”

“He is,” Gabe sighs. “He is worth everything I can give him and more. Jack is the one. My only one. I just…I don’t know if Hanzo is that for you.”

“It don’t matter, now,” Jesse says flatly. “He sent me away and don’t want me. But I love him. And I ain’t never gonna love anyone else.”

“Jesse, please don’t say that. You can’t know that. You were together for a couple of weeks.”

“How long it take you to know Jack was the one?”

“About sixty seconds,” Gabe says. “Ok. I get your point. But…you’re so young, mijo. You have a lot of long years ahead of you. I just can’t stand the idea of you throwing your whole life away over a boy who was stupid enough to let you go.”

Jesse’s jaw sets and his eyes harden resolutely. “Nothin’ you can do about it, boss. I gave my word. Ain’t no goin’ back.”

“But he didn’t give you his word, Jesse. That’s what I’m saying. He didn’t promise to love you in return.”

“I didn’t ask him to,” Jesse says heatedly. “I didn’t say ‘Hanzo, I’ll never love anyone but you, providin’ you make me the same promise.’ It don’t work like that. A man don’t give his word in trade. And he don’t get to break his word just cause he don’t feel like keepin’ it no more. That’s why it’s called your word of honor. My honor may not mean much to anyone else, but it does to me. I gave my word not to love anyone but him, so long as I live. That’s all there is to it.”

It breaks Gabe’s heart to hear these words from this sweet, noble boy who is his son. Partly because of the cold, silent pain of years to which Jesse is undertaking to subject himself, and partly because deep down, he believes his son will do as he says. Jesse is a man who keeps his word. Even at the price of his own torment. He thinks it’s better not to press the topic now, so he throws his arm around the boy’s shoulder and squeezes him sympathetically.

“I love you, mijo,” he says, planting a kiss on the top of his tousled, chestnut-brown hair. “I just want you to be happy.”

Jesse pulls away bashfully. “Come on, jefe, cut it out. My friends’ll see.”

“I know. They’ve been peeking out that window the entire time we’ve been talking.” Gabe grins. “Apparently, they think I’m hot.”

Jesse makes a face. “Well, there’s no accountin’ for taste. I think you’re as ugly as a old mule, myself.”

“No you don’t. How’s your friend? Has he seen a doctor?”

“Best in the world.”

Gabe frowns. “You didn’t bother to call me, but you called Angela?”

“I was right on that one, boss. You couldn’t help with Ben’s medical things.”

“Yes, Jesse, but the issue was you not telling me. It’s strange that she actually came, though. She’s not exactly a house-calls kind of doctor.”

“I don’t think it’s that strange,” Jesse shrugs. “Her showin’ up when her grandbaby asks for help.”

Gabe blinks. “How…how’d you find out?”

Jesse raises his hands in mock despair. “Boss, I musta asked you this a thousand times, but how the fuck stupid do you think I am? My accent throwin’ you off that much? Here, how ‘bout this. I, uh, like, totally figured it out on my own, bro.” He says this last bit while laying on a heavy southern-California inflection.

Gabe bursts out laughing at the ridiculous (though admittedly not inaccurate) imitation. “Fuck me. Is that how we sound to you?”

“Like a buncha sand-for-brains surfers? Yeah, just about.”

“How did you figure it out, though? About Angela.”

“Aside from the fact she looks so much like my mama, I damn near fainted the first time I seen her?”

“I thought you were just…really nervous about needles.”

“Yeah, and they done my tattoos with a paintbrush. You said someone knew, and then you let it drop that she tipped you off to the Deadlock job, and I’m a petri-dish baby and she’s a geneticist. I put one and one together.”

“Isn’t the expression, ‘put two and two together’?”

“Yeah but it wadn’t even that hard to figure out,” Jesse grins.

“Did you tell her you know?”

“Naw, it wadn’t the right time and we wadn’t alone. I will, though. And don’t you go tellin’ her. This is between her and me.”

“Of course, Jesse. I’m not an idiot either, you know.”

“That remains to be seen, jefe. You should know, though, I told Ben what I do.”

Gabe’s expression turns serious. “How much about what you do?”

“He knows I’m a spy. I didn’t tell him nothin’ compromisin’, but he’s like to figure out who I work for on his own. I won’t tell him nothin’ you wouldn’t, so don’t even ask. I just…need to be a real friend to him. I can’t do that if I’m always lyin’ to him.”

“Do you trust him?”

“I do.”

“Alright, Jesse. If you trust him…I trust your judgement. But for fuck’s sake, don’t let him know anything about your work. He’s an innocent civilian, ok?”

“I know, boss,” Jesse says, flicking his cigarette into a nearby storm drain. “So…you want to meet him? I mean him and Luisa been up there oglin’ you like a coupla creeps for a half hour, so you may as well come say howdy.”

Gabe hesitates. “I don’t know, Jesse. I don’t have any idea what to say to hip young people.”

“Christ, you like talkin’ like an old man. Come on and meet my friends. Luisa’ll never forgive me if I don’t bring you up for coffee so she can undress you with her eyes up close.”

“You didn’t tell her what we do, did you?”

“Course not, boss. I ain’t been postin’ flyers about it. I just told Ben. I gave her the international tax lawyers cover.”

“Alright. One cup of coffee,” Gabe says reluctantly. “But if it’s awkward, I’m going to fake a work emergency.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jesse says, leading Gabe to the door. “But if you do that, I’ma tell ‘em you’re my daddy.”

“You know…you can tell them that anyway, Jesse,” Gabe says. Then he goes a bit red in the face. “If…if you want to, I mean.”

“I dunno,” Jesse mumbles, looking down at his feet. “I guess I’ll have to see how I feel about it when the time comes.”

When they reach Ben’s apartment, Jesse flings the door open and calls out boisterously, “Ok, you two peeping-toms, get over here and meet my daddy!”

Gabe guesses he won’t be fooled by that shy, tongue-tied act again. He also guesses kids these days are a lot prettier than they were in his day. Then he immediately feels old for thinking the phrase “kids these days” in reference to two adult human beings, one of whom is making him an espresso while the other one asks about how he ended up working with his son.

“Oh, you know,” he says to the little alternate-reality Jack sitting at the table across from him. “Jesse and I didn’t see each other much when he was growing up. A couple years ago, I asked him to take a summer and try working at the firm. I thought it would be a good opportunity to spend time getting to know each other, and it turned out he had a natural aptitude for the work.”

“But Jesse cannot be an attorney,” Luisa says dubiously. “He is far too young.”

“No, Lulu. Jesse worked with his dad as an intern and now he’s an assistant,” Ben explains.

“Ah, I see. How lovely that you are so suited to your father’s profession. Will you one day earn your law degree and be an attorney as well, Jesse?”

“Oh, uh…well, I dunno,” Jesse laughs awkwardly. “Maybe some day or another.”

“Perhaps you will attend university here in Geneva. Then you can talk Ben into returning to school, as well.”

“Ben, you have some college education?” Gabe says, attempting to steer the conversation away from Jesse.

“I do,” Ben says. “I have a BA in Linguistics. Unfortunately there’s not a lot of money in that, unless you have an advanced degree. There is some money in being professionally good-looking, so I kind of…went where the wind took me.”

Jesse has stopped his mug halfway to his mouth, and is staring at his friend in amazement. He’d had no idea Ben had been to college. He’d never said anything about it. In all fairness, though, Jesse had never asked him much about himself.

“You don’t want to make a full-time career of modeling?” Gabe asks.

“Maybe, if I thought I could. But I’m realistic about it. Even for someone with a really amazing look, like the top-tier supermodels, it can only last a few years. Then you have to get a real job or marry rich.”

“Oh, come now, minou,” Luisa chides. “You make us sound so shallow and mercenary.”

“I was just joking, Lulu,” Ben says. “But it’s the nature of the business. It’s inherently shallow and mercenary. You said yourself that you make a living because men pay you to sell things to other men because they want to have sex with you.”

“I did indeed,” Luisa says. “It is all too true. But that does not make me the one who is shallow.”

Gabe nods. “You’re absolutely right, Luisa. If people want to pay you for taking your picture, that’s a reflection on them, not you.”

“You see? The attorney agrees with me,” Luisa says, appearing to be eminently pleased by Gabe’s support in the matter.

He flashes her a charming smile, then returns to Ben. “So, Ben, if you went back to school, what do you think you’d study?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m not really sure I could decide. All the things I’ve loved studying are the most impractical, and I don’t tend to do well in subjects I’m not really into.”

“Well, what have you loved studying?” Gabe asks, sipping his coffee and considering the boy closely.

“A lot of things,” Ben says, with a nervous laugh. He is finding it difficult to keep his thoughts in order under the keen, dark eye of Jesse’s very imposing and remarkably handsome father. Maybe he _is_ the scariest man on the planet. “I…love English Literature and World History. Those are my favorites. I’ve spent a lot of time studying those subjects, even when it’s not for a class. But unless I wanted to be a teacher, those things aren’t going to get me a job.”

“You study world history and literature in your free time?” Jesse asks warily. “Why…?”

Ben laughs and, much to Jesse’s annoyance, so does Gabe.

“Because I’m a dork, Jesse,” Ben says. “Sorry, I know I should have told you sooner.”

“I ain’t got a problem with folks likin’ to know things,” Jesse says, scowling at Gabe. “I just wondered why them specific things.”

“History tells us what happened and literature tells us why,” Gabe replies, ignoring his scowl.

Ben’s pretty face lights up with a delighted smile. “Thanks, Mr. Reyes. I was having a hard time articulating it, but that’s exactly why I like to study those subjects.”

Gabe smiles back. “Just Gabe, please.”

This irritates Jesse further, though he isn’t sure why it should.

He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “Ain’t literature just a fancy word for made up stories?”

“I guess, to paint it with a broad brush,” Ben laughs. “Yeah, literature is made up stories.”

“How do made up stories tell us why things happened in real life?”

“Literature is the study of human nature,” Gabe says. “When you make a serious study of literature alongside history, you’re able to more fully understand the past, because you also understand the human psychology and behavior that created it.”

“And by understanding the past, we can predict the future,” Ben interjects eagerly. “At least, we have a better chance of recognizing the patterns and making an educated guess.”

“Exactly. I’m starting to think Ben’s going to be a good influence on you, Jesse.”

“Well, I’d love to go to college and learn how to tell the future and all, boss, but I can’t. So I guess you’ll have to stick to the good ol’ crystal ball. Sorry to disappoint you.”

Luisa opens her mouth to inquire as to what Jesse means by this, but Ben stops her with a kick under the table. Jesse is aware of this, however, and answers her anyway.

“It’s alright. I ain’t ashamed of it. I can’t go to college cause I ain’t been to high school,” he says matter-of-factly. “I quit goin’ to school to take care of mama when I was eleven and I never bothered to go back.”

“But how can this be true, Jesse?” Luisa asks, out of genuine curiosity. “You are working in tax law.”

“Jesse is a natural genius,” Gabe cuts in. “He didn’t need to waste his time with the kind of rote learning that most of us need. He picked up the basics of accounting in about a week and the ins and outs of international tax law in another two. We’re lucky to have him.”

“Aw come on, jefe,” Jesse says, unable to maintain his irritation under this sudden profusion of praise, and breaking into a broad grin. “You just sayin’ that.”

“Have you ever known me to give anyone a compliment they don’t deserve, young man?” Gabe says, pulling a severe face.

“No, sir,” Jesse replies solemnly. “Most times you ain’t even give a fella ones he _do_ deserve.”

“Well, I have to keep you working for my approval somehow,” Gabe laughs. “Otherwise, what kind of dad would I be?”

Luisa has taken charge of Gabe’s empty mug and gone to make him another of those delicious espresso concoctions without being asked. She comes back from the kitchen with the steaming mug and a blue box of Gitanes.

“I think I will go out for a smoke,” she says. “Would you care for one, Monsieur Gabi?”

“I’d love one,” Gabe smiles, getting up from his chair. “Jesse? Ben?”

Ben says no, thank you, and Jesse shakes his head, so Gabe follows his lovely young hostess out to the balcony. Once they are outside, Ben lays his hand on Jesse’s.

“Hey, I’m really sorry about that,” he says. “I didn’t think about where the conversation was going.”

“Ain’t nothin to be sorry for,” Jesse says curtly. “I ain’t ashamed of my life.”

“I don’t think you should be ashamed of your life, Jesse,” Ben replies quietly. “Look at mine.”

Jesse takes Ben’s hand and squeezes it. “Sorry I snapped at you, Ben. Tell you the truth, I was just feelin’ kinda jealous. The boss don’t ever talk to me about things like that.”

“I owe you an apology, regardless. It’s inexcusably rude to discuss subjects that everyone present can’t participate in equally. I just…really want your dad to like me and I was showing off a little bit.”

“You know he’s married, right?” Jesse says, with a wicked grin.

“Fuck off!” Ben laughs. “You know what I meant. But if you’re really interested in geeky shit like classical literature and the history of ancient Rome and stuff, I’d be more than happy to…”

Jesse raises a doubtful eyebrow. “Teach me like a street kid in a after-school special?”

“No, I just—I thought I’d offer to point you in the right direction.” Ben says. “If you’re not into that stuff, no sweat.”

He looks crestfallen and Jesse immediately regrets his flippant rejoinder.

“I’m real interested in all them things,” he says. “I wanna know just about everything there is to know about everything in the world. But I get my hackles up when I feel like folks think I’m stupid or somethin’. If you feel like you wanna spend some time bangin’ your head on this brick wall, I’d be real grateful for your help.”

“I’d be happy to,” Ben says, brightening up again. “I’d like to share the things that I’m passionate about with you, Jesse.”

Jesse suddenly feels uneasy. He’s doing something wrong. He’s being selfish again. But how? This seems like something nice and friendly. Oh. Fuck.

“Ben…I hope you ain’t offerin’ on account of you feel obligated to me or anything. Cause we’re friends. Friends don’t keep a record of debts between ‘em.”

“Of course not, Jesse. I’m excited to actually get to talk to someone about it again. None of my friends are even a little interested in that stuff. Lulu likes to call it ‘musty old books about musty old men.’ I’m really glad to do it.”

Ben smiles cheerfully as he says all this, and perhaps he really believes he means it. But even if he can fool himself, he can’t fool Jesse’s detective’s eye. Jesse is keenly aware of the minute, almost imperceptible change in Ben’s expression. A slight stillness at the upturned corners of the pouting lips. A less lively sparkle to the clear, sea-blue eyes.

He swallows the cold, sinking feeling and smiles back. “Thanks, Ben. I appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem. Really. We should go join Lulu and your dad before she invites him to sleep over or something.”

“She wouldn’t really do that…would she?”

“Luisa is…uninhibited by the social expectations people like to force on women. That’s what I like about her most. She’s totally her own person. She likes good-looking men, she likes sex, and she’s not afraid to let them know it.” Ben smiles, seeing Jesse’s sudden discomfiture. “Don’t worry, Jesse. I’m pretty sure she can tell your dad is gay.”

“Oh yeah?” Jesse laughs. “Why do you assume he’s gay, you little rascal?”

“Give me a break, Jesse. I _know_ he’s gay. He’s out, though, right? I don’t want to say anything stupid.”

“Yeah, he is, but he don’t talk about it much. His husband ain’t, so things is kinda…complicated.”

“Sounds like it. You’ll have to explain that to me sometime,” Ben says, opening the door.

On the balcony, they find Luisa in fits of merriment over some story Gabe is telling her, and Gabe clearly enjoying the attention. Jesse eyes him disapprovingly as he lights a cigarette for Ben, then himself.

“Oh, Jesse,” Luisa says through her laugher, “your papa has been telling me the silliest thing about you and an accident with the shower, and the room all flooded and the toilet talking back to you and everything. I cannot believe how funny you are.”

“I don’t recall that incident as bein’ particular funny,” Jesse says dolefully. “I was real confused and I never met a shower I was expected to introduce myself to before. Boss, what you airin’ out all my business for, anyhow?”

“Parental privilege, Jesse,” Ben says, with a sigh. “Dads get to tell embarrassing stories about you to your friends. That’s just the way it is.”

“Alright, that decides it,” Gabe says, pointing his cigarette at Ben. “I like this one. We’re keeping him.”

“Hear that, Lu?” Ben says. “I’m in with the Reyes clan. You better shape up if you want to get in, too.”

“I do not know if I want to join yet,” Luisa says, assuming a blasé attitude. “What are the benefits of membership?”

Ben makes some jocular response, and the two continue their banter, but neither Gabe nor Jesse hear a word they’re saying. Their phones have vibrated simultaneously, and all their attention is on the contents of the message they’ve both received.

OCM-001: Reyes, McCree, report in ASAP. Amélie Lacroix is missing.

 

 


	90. Sing Me A Song

“That’s all we have, sir.”

“What about the street cameras? Why don’t we have those yet?” Jack says irritably.

“The French authorities are holding it up, sir,” the young lieutenant from intel says, shrinking visibly under the Commander’s flashing blue eye. “They…they say that this doesn’t constitute an emergency.”

“Give me a fucking phone,” Jack snaps. One of the trembling intel officers puts one in his outstretched hand. “Athena! Get me Renée de Villefort.”

As Jack is waiting for the call to connect, Gabe and Jesse come hurrying into the room. He turns and nods to them.

“What the fuck is going on, Ana?” Gabe asks. “Is Gérard alright?”

“Gérard was not involved,” Ana says. “He was at the new HQ facility working.”

“Where’d it happen? And how?”

“Amélie was on her way to the Opéra. Her car was apparently targeted by some kind of EMP and disabled. She has not been located yet.”

“What about her body tracker?”

“Gabriel,” Ana says evenly. “Keep yourself under control. It was…removed.”

Gabe’s blood runs cold. “They cut her fucking tracker out of—” he begins, but Jack turns and places a finger over his lips. “Jesus Christ,” he says in a low growl. “I told Jack not to let her dismiss her fucking security detail.”

Ana shakes her head. “She did not dismiss them. Two Overwatch agents were with her in the car. One driving, the other in the passenger seat. They were both killed.”

“How.”

“Gunshots, Gabriel. How do these things usually go?”

“Security footage?”

“Jack is on the phone trying to get Paris to cooperate. The footage from the car—”

“Let me see it.” Gabe says, straining to control his wrath.

“The footage from the car is practically useless, but here. Take a look.”

Ana taps the screen nearest them and the scene in Madame Lacroix’s car appears. Amélie is sitting in the back seat typing on her phone. Her security detail are in the front seats. She looks up and glances out the window, then returns to her phone. Then the image scrambles and goes black.

“Gérard?”

“His team is on high alert. He and Lieutenant Wilhelm have their people covering all routes out of Paris and combing the surrounding areas.”

“How is he?”

“He is a professional. He is functioning for now, but he will not be allowed to take the lead on this, for obvious reasons.”

Gabe nods, then he and Ana look up at Jack.

“Then get me the fucking Prime Minister!” he is practically snarling into the phone.

“Hey, boss?” Jesse says timidly.

“What is it, Jesse.”

“It wadn’t an EMP.”

“What wasn’t?”

“The way the camera in the car shut off. It wadn’t an EMP.”

Gabe sighs. “How the fuck can you know that, Jesse?”

“I disabled a fuckload of security cameras in my time, boss. The image don’t scramble like that when a pulse hits ‘em. They just shut down. That little jig it done first was the network signal failing.”

“But the vehicle was hit with an EMP, Jesse,” Ana says. “All its circuits were fried. That’s how it was stopped.”

“I beg your pardon, ma’am, but I don’t know nothin’ but what I seen. And the network failed before the EMP hit, I guarantee it.”

“Commander Reyes?” the intel tech who had been speaking with Jack interjects.

“Yes, lieutenant?”

“I—I think Agent McCree is right, sir. It looked like a network failure to me, too.”

“Thank you, Greta,” Jesse says, crossing his arms. “See?”

Gabe turns to the young woman. “Alright then, how would one accomplish a network failure like that? And why, if the EMP was about to waste the camera anyway?”

“I can’t even theorize as to why, sir. But to block the network, the carrier signal is wireless, so it would have to be interfered with at either the source, or the destination.”

“Interfered with how?”

“A device with a sufficiently powerful jamming signal in close proximity to the camera’s transmitter or the receiver would do it,” she says. Then she looks self-conscious. “But…that would mean it’d either have to have been in the car, or at Paris HQ.”

“Those are both unlikely,” Gabe says. “They couldn’t have got one into HQ, and her car would’ve been swept every time the security detail let her get into it. Who was Mel texting before they were hit? Do we have her cell records?”

“We do, sir,” Greta says. “The last messages are between Mrs. Lacroix and Agent Lacroix. Obviously we can’t see what they said, but it’s safe to assume it didn’t have much to do with this.”

Jesse doesn’t think it’s safe to assume anything of the kind, but he’s not close with the Lacroix like Gabe and Jack are, and doesn’t know how absurd it would be to suspect either of them.

“Merci, Madame. Oui. Oui.” Jack hangs up the phone and looks at Gabe. “The Paris police are sending the street camera footage to the Paris bureau now. Gabe, I hate sending you right back out after you just got home like this, but…”

“Like you could stop me.”  

“How long till you can have your team put together?”

“Hour. We’ll meet you on the helipad.”

Jack smiles. “How’d you know?”

Gabe shrugs and throws him a knowing smirk over his shoulder as he heads out the door. Jesse trots after him along the hallway toward the elevator.

“Hey, boss, is Claudia comin’ with us?”

“No, and you’re not coming either,” Gabe says, pressing the button for the sub-basement.

Jesse’s eyes spark indignantly. “The fuck you mean I ain’t comin? The Commander called us both in for this.”

“You just completed an extended assignment in Japan. You are on leave. You are not coming and that’s final.”

“But, boss, I—”

Gabe turns and lays a hand on Jesse’s shoulder, looking him sternly in the eye. “Jesse, it’s just one mission. We will be fine without you. Ben…he might not be. He needs you right now and if you’re not there for him, you may regret it forever. Trust me. Go take care of your friend.”

Jesse opens his mouth to argue, but he knows Gabe is right. “Ok, boss. Just…be careful. Don’t fuck up and get yourself killed or nothin’, ok?”

“You know me,” Gabe grins, as he steps into the lift. “I’m always careful.”

 

Gabe’s team are geared up, assembled, and strapped into their seats when Jack comes striding briskly out to meet them. Gabe is leaning against the TAAV smoking a cigarette. He smiles to himself as he watches Jack approach. He hasn’t seen his husband like this—wearing body armor and all in black from head to toe—in years. It suits him well.

“Eyes back in your head, Reyes,” Jack barks. “I’m your commanding officer.”

“Yes, sir,” Gabe grins.

“Who’s on the team?”

“Ekwensi is driving, Gallegos and Hicks on Intel, Song and Vasquez on Ops, and Cruz, Hudson, Malik, Moses, and Tzaadi on crowd control.”

“What about Jesse?”

Gabe shakes his head. “I don’t want him anywhere near this, Jack. If these Talon people are involved, and there’s every reason to think they are, they know who he is and they won’t hesitate to hurt him or try to grab him if they get a chance. He’s already lost an arm to these assholes. I’m not about to knowingly put him in their way.”

“Good,” Jack smiles. “You’re thinking like a dad.”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s fuck you _sir_ , to you.” Jack pivots on his heel and heads up the ramp into the TAAV.

Gabe flicks his cigarette away and follows, availing himself of the opportunity to appreciate Jack’s tight-fitting black trousers. Jack straps into the copilot’s chair and Gabe takes an empty seat near the front. After a moment, the door hasn’t shut and they’re still waiting.

“What the fuck is the holdup, Ekwensi?” Gabe calls out to the pilot. “You on break?”

“One more coming in sir,” Captain Ekwensi calls back.

At that moment, Claudia comes dashing up the ramp. She has her med bag in her hand and she’s dressed in black combat gear like the rest of the team.

“Oberkampf, what the fuck are you doing here?” Gabe says. “You’re not on this mission.”

“Sir, I used to be with the Paris bureau,” she puffs, still out of breath from running to catch them. “Agent Lacroix is a friend. I have to go.”

“No, you don’t,” Gabe replies impatiently. “You have to follow orders. You’re on leave. Go…be on leave.”

Much to the admiration (and amusement) of the rest of Gabe’s team, the petite young woman plants her feet and looks their formidable commander defiantly in the eye.

“With all due respect, sir, I’m going on this mission,” she says firmly. “If you don’t want me, you’re going to have to get off your ass and throw me out of the TAAV.”

Jack turns around in his seat. “You heard the lady, Reyes. What’s it gonna be?”

Claudia gives a start and blushes to the ears. “Oh—Commander Morrison! I didn’t realize you were here, sir. I…fuck. I apologize, sir.”

“No apology necessary,” Jack says graciously. “I believe you and Commander Reyes were working something out?”

Gabe sighs. “Welcome aboard, Oberkampf.”

“Thank you, sir!” Claudia says, hurrying to stow her bag and strap into the seat beside him. “You won’t regret it, sir.”

“We’ll see about that,” Gabe grumbles. “Are we getting the fuck out of here or what, Ekwensi?”

“Getting the fuck out of here now, sir,” Captain Ekwensi calls back, suppressing a grin. The ramp raises and the door shuts with a thud as the pressure locks engage. “Tower, this is Raven zero-zero-six, requesting clearance for takeoff.”

“All clear, Raven,” the tower responds through her console. “Give ‘em hell, ma’am.”

 

 

Back in his room alone, Jesse is growing quickly restless and agitated. He tries to call Claudia, but gets her voicemail. Genji’s number sends him to voicemail as well, but a recording informs him that the voice-mailbox is full. He drums his fingers on his knee for a moment, then he types a message to Ben.

Jesse: hey sorry about runnin out like that its just the way the job is sometimes

A few minutes pass, then his phone chirps.

B: No problem, Jesse. I understand. How long will you be gone?

Jesse types out “i ain’t gonna be gone it was just a readiness drill,” then deletes it. No lying. He types “the boss don’t need me on this one.” That’s still kind of a lie. He deletes that, too. He tries “the boss wants me to stay and take care of you.” Nope. That’s true, but it makes it sound like he’s blaming Ben for his missing out on the mission. He sighs with frustration. Telling the truth is hard work. He thinks maybe those pleasant little social fictions people use to avoid hurting other people’s feelings aren’t so bad, after all. It’s that, or say nothing.

Jesse: i ain’t gonna be gone. what you up to?

B: Lulu got a bunch of junk food and we’re going to watch Die Hard. You should join us, if you’re not busy.

Jesse: i ever tell you y’all just about my favorite people? course i’ll join you

B: Great! You know the door code. Just come on up when you get here.

B: Oh, and bring your pajamas. We’re watching Point Break, too.

Jesse: which one

B: The ONLY one.

Jesse: on my way ;)

He doesn’t own any pajamas, so he grabs a dark-brown leather messenger bag (which Genji had insisted he must have) and stuffs some blue training sweatpants and a sleeveless white undershirt into it. He debates about his revolver. He can’t roll around Geneva with his hardware on display, but Blackwatch agents are required to be armed at all times, even off-duty. He dislikes the Glock that fits his ankle holster, though, and the holster chafes his leg. Oh, well. He straps the thing on anyway, pulls his boot up to cover it, then heads down to the garage.

 

At the chic flat in Eaux-Vives, he finds Ben and Luisa in high spirits, sipping champagne from stemless flutes. Luisa is pouring different kinds of candy and snack chips into glass bowls. She has her wavy brown-black hair up in a loose, messy bun and she’s wearing little black satin pajama shorts with a black camisole made of some kind of stretchy lace. Ben is wearing yet another pair of grey pajama pants (he must own about a thousand of them) and a tight, v-neck t-shirt with metallic writing, similar to the ones Genji often wore. This one is a pale lilac color and says “Wolf Parade”. Jesse chuckles at it as he takes off his bag.

“What’s so funny, Jesse James?” Ben says with mock indignation. “You don’t like my shirt?”

“Naw, I like it. My friend Genji in Japan is always wearin’ shirts like that, with nonsense English stuff wrote on ‘em.”

“This isn’t nonsense, Jesse. Wolf Parade is a band.”

“It _was_ a band like a century ago,” Luisa corrects. “And it was terrible. Ben has dreadful taste in music, Jesse. It is better you find out about it sooner than later.”

“I do not! You just think anything that isn’t brand new isn’t worth listening to.”

Luisa sips her champagne and tosses her head dismissively. “No, I simply don’t like your old fiddle music. It is very dull.”

“Not everything without a synthesizer is dull, Lulu. Jesse, help me out, here.”

“No way,” Jesse says, raising his hands. “I ain’t gettin’ involved. I only know church songs and the old-ass country and rock ‘n roll shit Hacksaw used to listen to.”

“Oh, yeah!” Ben exclaims, with an emphatic gesture that sends champagne splashing out of his glass. “Jesse is an actual musician! You better watch out, Lulu!”

“You are already tipsy, minou,” Luisa says. “You slow down or you will not be awake to watch our movies. Jesse, did you bring your PJ’s? Go and change!”

“PJ’s?” Jesse laughs. “That’s a real cute name for my ratty old sweats. Just a minute.”

Jesse goes into Ben’s room and kicks off his boots. He pulls out his sweatpants and undershirt and stows his ankle holster in the messenger bag. He hears the holovid click on and Luisa pouting about the news being so awfully depressing, and then Ben grousing tipsily about something the newscaster has said. He finishes pulling on his makeshift pajamas and returns to the living room. Luisa has her hand on Ben’s shoulder. He is staring at the holovid, ash-white and silent.

“…found dead in his Geneva penthouse of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. Mr. Tsakilidis was discovered by a housekeeper, who entered the penthouse on her regular rounds, and called the Geneva canton police. The police have confiscated Mr. Tsakilidis’ personal computer, along with several external hard drives found in his home, said to contain what Swiss authorities are calling ‘thousands of sexual images involving prepubescent minors.’ The data is being shared with Interpol to aid an ongoing investigation into international child-exploitation. Mr. Tsakilidis was unmarried and had no children, and his extended family in Greece has declined to comment. In European news, the Mayor of Paris announced today…”

Luisa speaks a word to the holovid and the screen goes dark. Jesse stands watching Ben warily. For a tense moment, no one speaks.

“He’s…he’s dead, then,” Ben says, in a tremulous half whisper.

His eyes travel slowly up to Jesse’s face, but Jesse looks away.

“I am glad that pig is dead,” Luisa says heatedly. “He was a piece of filth. I spit on his grave.”

“You might have to get in line, Lu,” Jesse says, gazing resolutely at the blank screen. “Most folks don’t cotton to child-pornographers.”

“Are you alright, minou?” she says in a gentler tone, stroking Ben’s blonde hair. “I am sorry you have had such a shock.”

Ben nods, then he shakes himself and smiles. “I’m—I’m ok, you guys. Let’s just…watch our movies and not talk about it anymore.”

Jesse helps Luisa carry the glasses and champagne and snacks to the coffee table, then she trots back into the kitchen and returns with a couple of pints of ice cream and spoons. Jesse smiles at her thoughtfulness. Ben’s teeth are still half destroyed, so of course the crunchy snack foods are a no-go for now. He accepts the bite of ice cream Ben is already trying to coax him with, and takes the glass of champagne Luisa holds out to him. He sips it, then winces and makes a gagging sound.

“Hoo boy that’s fuckin’ rotten. How can y’all drink this?”

“This is very good champagne, Jesse,” Luisa giggles. “You must have tasted it wrong.”

Ben laughs too. “It’s cheap garbage we picked up on sale. You want some whiskey instead?”

“Please,” Jesse says, still grimacing. “Somethin’ to wash that outta my mouth. Tastes like spoiled soda-pop.”

“No, no, minou,” Luisa clucks at Ben. “Do not get up. I will get it. Jesse, do you take ice?”

“Neat, please,” Jesse smiles. “Thank you ma’am.”

She goes into the kitchen and begins to rummage in the cabinet.

“What’s ‘minou’?” Jesse asks Ben. “Lu keeps callin’ you that.”

“Oh, it means kitty. She likes to give animal nicknames.”

“You’re a kitty and I’m a wolf, huh?” Jesse says thoughtfully. “I’m startin’ to suspect maybe Lu thinks we’re her pets.”

“Probably,” Ben laughs. “Hey, Lulu! Jesse says you think we’re your pets.”

“Tout à fait,” Luisa calls back from the kitchen. “Ne’s tu pas?”

“She says you’re right.”

“Well, I reckon I don’t mind, so long as I don’t gotta sleep on the floor.”

“No, no, no,” Luisa says, handing Jesse a generous tumbler of whiskey. “You may not sleep on the floor! You are a wolf, not a dog. Aïe! What happened to Die Hard?”

Ben shrugs. “I want to look at sexy surfers.”

“Seconded!” Jesse chimes in, raising his glass.

His friends seat themselves on either side of the sofa, leaving the middle spot open for him. He sits down and looks at Ben, then Luisa, who are both looking back at him with wide, round eyes.

Jesse sighs and spreads out his arms. “Alright, bring it in.”

He gets a kiss on both cheeks simultaneously, then his friends snuggle up to him and Ben calls for the holovid to start the movie.

This must be what it feels like to have a family, Jesse thinks. To have people to protect and look after. Who care about you and depend on you. People who  _need_ you. It feels good to be strong for them. It’s a balm to his raw, grief-stricken heart. At the same time, he’s aware that he is busily wrapping himself in layers of internal armor. To be strong for someone also means that you can never fully let them in. Never let them see the chaos and terror inside. Because if they know how weak you really are, how you’re only a mortal man, they won’t feel safe. And you ain’t doin’ right by ‘em if you can’t make ‘em feel safe.

Hanzo didn’t need him like that. He was so strong. So much stronger than he seemed. Jesse realizes with a heavy ache in his chest that Hanzo had been the one who was expected to be strong for everyone else. When Sojiro died, Hanzo had, in essence, become the father of his clan. If he had shown any weakness, they wouldn’t have felt safe under his leadership. Hanzo hadn’t asked him for comfort because he couldn’t. Jesse should have gone to him and offered it. And now…now it’s too late. Regret takes him in its cold, iron jaws and nearly crushes the breath from his lungs. But he has Ben and Luisa to think about, now. He’ll be strong for them.

He drains his full tumbler of whiskey as dramatically backlit surfers begin to carve across the screen in slow-motion, juxtaposed with quick interludes of an implausibly fresh-faced FBI agent doing some strenuous acting on a rain-deluged shooting range.

“Wow, Jesse,” Ben says. “Lulu was telling _me_ to slow down.”

“I reckon you know I can hold my whiskey by now,” Jesse laughs, setting his empty glass on the coffee table.

Luisa grabs Jesse’s knee and shakes him. “Quiet you two bad boys! Important things are happening!”

Ben sticks out his tongue at her and Jesse snickers. But he also notices that Luisa’s slender, white hand remains on his knee. He tries to pay attention to what Johnny Utah’s boss is saying about the Ex-Presidents gang, but her hand is moving slowly up his thigh. God damn these sweatpants. He has no hope of concealing his palpable physical response. When he feels Ben’s hand slip up under his shirt, it finally occurs to him what is happening. He laughs and drops his head back on the sofa.

“Y’know,” he says in a lazy drawl. “If you kids wanted to play, all’s you had to do was ask.”

Before he can lift his head again, Luisa’s soft, pouting lips are pressed against his. He opens his mouth, sliding his tongue forward to caress hers. She tastes sweet and faintly like strawberries. He feels her hand tugging at his waistband, then Ben’s hand takes hold of the other side. He lifts his ass up to let them peel off his pants and underwear, then Ben’s hot breath is on his ear and Luisa’s delicious mouth is on his mouth and both their hands are on his cock, stroking him dizzy. Luisa draws back and they pull his undershirt off over his head.

Jesse looks up into her big, long-lashed green eyes and grins wickedly. “Just tell me how you want it, darlin’.”

 

 

 

In a place far away, high atop a hill, where there are cherry blossoms in the spring, the pale, white moon casts her shimmering cloak over the walls and battlements of an ancient castle. She chases the deep, black shadows away across the tree-lined courtyard, and lets a slender thread of her brilliance slip in through a darkened window. It falls across the smooth, ivory cheek of a beautiful, black-eyed boy, lying in his bed beneath the window. But he is not asleep, as he should be. He is weeping. Bitterly weeping. Had the moon a hand to caress him, or a heart to feel pity for his woe, certainly even she would have reached out and offered him comfort. But the moon is a cold and distant sphere, far from the circles of the world, and even her light is only reflected from another source. She has no power to soothe, nor even to warm this broken-hearted child.

A door at the other end of the boy’s room opens, and a flicker of warm, golden lamplight dances into the room, meeting and mingling with the silver light of the moon until the door is closed again. With the light has come another boy. Black-haired and dark grey-eyed, similar in looks, but not so pale and lovely as the first. He pads timidly across the floor, then hesitates.

“Hanzo,” he whispers softly, as though the shadows may hear him and spring upon him. “I cannot sleep in my room alone. I…I am afraid.”

The beautiful boy dries his tears, mercifully concealed by the darkness, and makes his voice steady and strong.

“It is alright, brother,” he says. “I will keep you safe. Come and lie down by me.”

Guided by the thin shaft of moonlight, the grey-eyed boy makes his way over in the dark and lies down beside his brother, who wraps his little arm around him.

“Hanzo,” he whispers again. “Will you sing me a song?”

“I will sing you a song, Genji,” the black-eyed boy answers. He draws a long breath, then in a low, sweet voice, he begins to sing.

_Yuuyake koyake no akatonbo_

_Owarete mita nowa itsunohika_

_Yama no hatake no kuwa no mi wo_

_Kokago ni tsunda wa maboroshi ka_

_Juugo de neeya wa yome ni iki_

_Osato no tayori mo taehateta_

_Yuuyake koyake no akatonbo_

_Tomatte iru yo sao no saki_

Before he has reached the last couplet, his brother is fast asleep. He draws the blankets up over him and kisses his little forehead. Then he lies down and listens to the sound of his brother’s soft, steady breathing as he drifts away across the seas of twilight to find his own rest.

When he wakes again, he is the Master. His father’s ashes lie buried beneath the earth and all his people look to him for strength and guidance. His brother still cannot sleep at night, but he no longer asks Hanzo to sing to him. He has not done so in many years. Not since the day when Hanzo swore he would never sing to him again. Just a few years after the day they had learned the truth of their mothers.

Their father, Shimada Sojiro, had wed Suzume, as arranged by their parents. It was in all ways a good and noble match, but for one. Sojiro did not love his maiden bride. His true love had been Chiyoko, child of a thousand generations, the greatest warrior and archer in all the clans. She was the captain of his guard and served him honorably, and they fell deeply in love.

Chiyoko was not of noble birth, and could not be wed to her love, but she vowed that if she could not share her life with him, she would at least give it in defense of his. Thus she remained faithfully in his service, though the pain of seeing him wed to another was almost more than she could bear. They remained friends and comrades always. But, as those who spend each day looking upon the face of the one they love most in the world sometimes will, they found they were unequal to task of being two apart, when so often before they had been one together.

When Suzume learned that Chiyoko was with child, and that this child would be born before her own, the poison of hatred flowed into her veins. She knew Sojiro loved her less than he loved Chiyoko, and she could not bear the thought that he should also love her own son less than he loved Chiyoko’s bastard. In her anguish and envy, she thought to end this child’s life mercifully, before it could grow to be a man and become a burden to its father.

She went one night to Chiyoko’s room, intending to smother it in its sleep. But when Suzume, heavy with child herself, looked upon the infant son of Sojiro, who she did indeed love, her hatred died in her heart. She took the boy up in her arms and cradled him, and sang to him. Chiyoko, awakened by her voice, came and knelt beside her on the floor.

“Mistress,” she said. “I have dishonored myself and I have betrayed you, but take pity on my son and love him. For he is the son of the man who we both love.”

“I will do as you ask, Chiyoko,” Suzume said. “For I cannot but love my lord’s child. But you shall go from here, and vow never to return. If you will do this, I will make a vow in kind to raise him as my own, as the legitimate son of Sojiro, and he shall live in honor among the clan, rather than bear the mark of bastard that would ruin him forever.”

Chiyoko agreed, though with a heavy heart, believing that this was the best that she could do for the happiness of her child and of the man she loved. So she made ready to depart one night, after the house had gone to sleep. She placed the infant in Suzume’s arms, and she laid beside his cradle the Storm Bow. The greatest bow in all the land, with which she had slain legions of enemies. She prayed that when she died, her spirit would pass into him, so that he should be strengthened by it and find comfort when he had need. Then, with many tears and in great sorrow, she took her final leave of her precious son, and she went alone out of the castle, to make her way as she could among the chances of the world.

When Sojiro learned what Suzume had done, he grew angry with a cold, silent wrath that was a special torment to her. He swore that he would never again share Suzume’s bed, since in her jealousy, she had undertaken to send Chiyoko away without his knowledge. His men went out and searched for Chiyoko. For many days, they found only rumors of a great warrior who fought under no banner, until at last, they learned that she had fallen in battle. She had died an honorable warrior’s death, defending a small village from a horde of the steel beasts that threatened to consume the world.

Sojiro was stricken with grief and remorse for his deeds, which had led to Chiyoko’s flight from the safety of the castle, and so to her death. As the time of her confinement drew near, Suzume became ever more sick and feeble, and her childbed was prolonged and painful. She bled profusely in delivering the infant, and was never again whole in body or in heart. She lingered two years before she departed this world, leaving her small sons motherless. But Suzume and Sojiro forgave one another and were reconciled before the end, and thus her spirit passed on in peace to join her ancestors.

It was shortly after the death of Suzume that Sojiro contrived his plan to falsify the ages of his sons, so that Chiyoko’s son Hanzo would have full claim to legitimacy. When the boys were old enough to comprehend such things, Sojiro told them the truth of their mothers, and of their real ages. Hanzo, the elder by several months, had been made to seem older by one year, and Genji had been made to seem younger, also by one year. He asked them to agree to abide by this and they did so, perhaps being too young to grasp the full implications this decision may have for the future.

As time went on, Hanzo—striving to prove he was worthy to be his father’s successor despite his illegitimate birth—poured himself body and soul into his education and training, improving his mind and honing his skill in combat to a knife’s edge. He rapidly grew to outmatch Genji in nearly every pursuit. He was even able to summon the ancestral dragon spirits of the Shimada clan many years before Genji would achieve this for himself. To the astonishment of the elders, when Hanzo first called forth his dragon spirit, two manifested, rather than one. This had never occurred in the history of the family. Sojiro took great pride and joy in it, believing it to be a sign that Chiyoko’s spirit indeed lived on in her son.

As his father’s honor and admiration for Hanzo increased, Genji grew ever more sullen and defiant toward his brother, and sought ever more frivolous uses of his time. And, as young men are prone to do, he spoke heated words which he did not consider first. This was the day that Hanzo swore never to sing to him again. Though they were boys of twelve years, it had still been his custom to play his koto and sing for Genji on cold or stormy nights, when he had trouble sleeping. But Hanzo misjudged a blow in their training and struck Genji more gravely than he intended. In his anger, Genji’s simmering resentment boiled past the brim. He reminded Hanzo of his bastardy, and said that his mother had been no better than a common whore. From that day, the two were brothers only, and friends no longer.

Hanzo, meanwhile, became his father’s best assassin and closest confidante. Genji was deeply wounded by this, as he desired his father’s love and approval above all else in the world. He called Hanzo a toady and a tale-bearer, for he would inform Sojiro when Genji had been giving himself up to drink or whiling away his training hours with wayward women.

Hanzo was also instructed deeply in clan politics and diplomacy, and was given small tasks such as entertaining the sons of allies of the clan. Hanzo made these young men welcome in the boys’ hall at first, but eventually excluded Genji from the interactions, as his unpredictability and bouts of drunkenness made Hanzo ashamed. Genji drew his own conclusions as to why his brother would no longer allow him to join their company, which he made clear to Hanzo with further heated words. Hanzo made no effort to deny what Genji asserted, believing such explanations to be beneath his dignity. For Hanzo had become proud, indeed, and vain of his superiority. And as Genji became more disorderly and contentious, Hanzo did not hesitate to reprimand him for his conduct or remind him of his place. Thus the rift between them grew, till the present day.

And now Hanzo feels he can no longer say a word to which his brother does not take offense. It wears upon him to be so constantly on his guard. He strives to honor his father’s commands in all things, but Genji, it seems, is determined to be neither loved, nor forgiven. He has become increasingly wild and ungovernable, drinking heavily and bringing young ladies of questionable character into the castle grounds, two and three at a time.

The other families have begun to take note of this behavior, and once again Hanzo finds himself ashamed by his brother’s behavior. His advisors suggest that perhaps Genji should be sent away to a monastery for a time, and given a chance to reform himself. Hanzo flatly refuses this. Sojiro would not have wished his younger son to be treated thus. They tell him something must be done soon. He agrees. He thanks them for their attentiveness in this matter, and dismisses them.

The eldest among them, however, the very few who are privy to the secret of his birth, see the warrior Chiyoko’s fire in her son, burning like a kiln beneath the Master’s tranquil exterior. Perhaps, they think, he may be provoked to some stronger action, before the young master Genji brings more dishonor to the clan. Perhaps Genji could be led to challenge his brother’s position on grounds of his illegitimacy. The Master would then have no choice but to send him away, or to put him down. But how can this be accomplished without the Master learning of their interference? They will think on this and speak again soon. For now, all are to watch and listen.

 

 

 

“They have made no contact,” Agent Lacroix says. “No demands.”

He is doing his level-best to remain calm, but his face is drawn and haggard, and Gabe can see his hand tremble as he raises his cigarette to his lips.

“I’d tell you to go home and get some rest, but we need you here when they try.” Jack says. “I’m sorry, Gérard. I can’t imagine how difficult this is for you. It’s…unthinkable.”

“I will be alright,” Gérard replies staunchly. “I know what is my duty.”

Jack lays a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll get her back, Gérard. We will get her back.”

“We do not negotiate with terrorists, Commander.”

Gabe turns his head away, unable to look his friend in the eye, knowing what it must cost him to speak such a thing aloud.

“I have no intention of negotiating,” Jack says firmly. “Your job will be to keep them talking till we locate her. Then I am going to personally make every one of them regret the day they heard her name.”

“How can we hope to locate her? They…” Gérard clears his throat to steady his voice. “They cut the tracker out of her arm.”

“Gabe’s team has been cooking something up for for a while,” Jack says. “It’s still experimental—” he looks at Gabe “—and highly unethical, but it might be our only chance. Would you be willing to try it?”

“Anything,” Gérard nods. “Anything, of course. How does it work?”

“I’ll let Gallegos and Hicks explain,” Gabe says. “This isn’t really my area of expertise. They’re setting up in the intel center.”

“D’accord. After you, Commanders,” Gérard says, bowing politely.

The three men head downstairs and weave their way through the narrow, concrete halls of the underground Paris HQ facility. The intel center lies through a steel door at the end of a long corridor. A guard stands to attention and salutes, then opens the door for them. All the usual intel staff have been ejected, and Gallegos and Hicks have already set up their equipment on a long table in the middle of the room.

“Commander. Boss,” Gallegos says, rising from his chair and stepping forward to shake Gérard’s hand. “Agent Lacroix, I’m Agent Gallegos and this is Agent Hicks. I imagine you’d like to know what we’re doing.”

“Indeed, indeed. If you please,” Gérard says.

“This here,” Gallegos explains, indicating to the monitor at which Hicks is sitting, “is a sort of high-sensitivity wire tap. Except it taps wireless signals, which we are not officially able to do.”

“How will a wire-tap help us?” Gérard frowns. “If they call, we will hear what they say as a matter of course.”

“We wouldn’t be able to listen to the call from this thing anyway,” Gallegos says. “That’s not what it does. If our bogies are smart, and we have to assume they are, they’ll be using high-frequency burst transmission and scrambling their signal. Plus they’ll be bouncing the call around to multiple satellites to disguise their location. The signals our baby listens for are those generated by high-frequency burst-transmission, and anything that creates the amount of data interference necessary to bounce a scrambled signal around.”

“But other agencies like the French DGSE and even Overwatch use burst transmission. How will it tell the difference and locate one signal in thousands?”

“It has an…impressive range and sensitivity. We can look at all of Paris essentially, and these here,” he points to groups of flashing dots in several areas of a glowing grid on the screen, “are where official agencies have agents using that kind of transmission. What we’ll be looking for is a new one popping up when they communicate. It’ll have a stronger interference pattern, too, since it’s not hooked into an agency’s network. The computer will listen for it and alert us when that happens, then we’ll have a location on the call.”

Gérard glances at Jack and Gabe. “I had no idea Overwatch was capable of this kind of surveillance. This device…it gives you the location of every clandestine operative in Paris.”

“Yeah…officially it does no such thing,” Gallegos says. “For the record, that would be extremely illegal, and Overwatch would never condone, authorize, nor take part in any such violation of a sovereign nation’s security.”

“I see,” Gérard says. “But they may not call from the location where she is being held. What then?”

Gallegos shifts uncomfortably. “They’ll…have to, Agent Lacroix.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Proof of life,” Gabe answers. “They won’t try to negotiate terms without proof of life. Meaning they’ll have to let her speak to us herself. They’ll have to call from where she is.”

“How long will it take to pinpoint their location, once we have them on the line?” Jack asks.

“That’s the tricky part, sir,” Gallegos says. “It’ll take sixty seconds to weed the signal out of the background noise. I know that doesn’t sound like much, but a standard mobile phone trace takes about the same amount of time. They’ll likely try to limit the call to less than that.”

“What if they are using a standard mobile phone?” Gérard says.

“Then they’ve made our jobs easy,” Gallegos says. “They do that, the equipment you already have here will locate them just fine.”

“Ok.” Gérard nods uneasily. “Ok. We will proceed this way. Thank you, Agent Gallegos.”

“Oh, Agent Lacroix? I’ll have to borrow your phone for a sec. Hicks has to connect it to the device so it can monitor the signal directly.”

“Of course,” Gérard says. He pulls out his phone and hands it to the agent. “Thank you.”

Gallegos nods. “I’ll get it back to you in a couple minutes.”

Gérard bows briefly, then turns to Jack and Gabe. “Commander Morrison, would you permit me to speak with Commander Reyes privately for a moment?”

Jack says of course, whatever he needs, and Gabe follows Gérard into an empty office across the hall. Gérard sits on the desk and lights another cigarette.

“Gabriel…I am grateful for your help,” he says slowly. “I truly am. But I am uncomfortable with the means you and your men are using. You can track any agency’s clandestine operatives in such a large area. Even our own people could be subject to this kind of surveillance, if you chose to use it that way. This much power…it is dangerous.”

“Gérard, we’re the good guys,” Gabe says. “I understand your hesitation, but we don’t use our tech to spy indiscriminately, and we certainly don’t use it to spy on our own people.”

“Tell me something, Gabriel. Our communication devices cannot be used when they are not in physical contact with our own bodies. They become inert. Why, then, did your agent not ask me to stay and keep it in my hand?”

Gabe crosses his arms on his chest and lowers his eyes. “Gérard…we—Blackwatch—we keep everyone safe by assuming we can never trust anyone. We’ve had the ability to unlock personal bio-keyed phones for years. No one knows but us, and now you. Not even Jack.”

“How can you live this way, Gabriel? How can you live your life never trusting anyone?”

“I trust you.”

“How can I believe now that you trust me?” Gérard says, with some energy. “You are only confessing because I have discovered it. And how can I trust you, if you do not trust me, Gabriel? How?”

“Jack is my husband, Gérard.”

Gérard freezes in the act of forming a reply. His mouth snaps shut and he swallows hard. “Your…your husband? I do not understand. How can this be?”

“This is a secret we have kept for decades. Five living people know it, aside from Jack and myself…and some of my lawyers, but they don’t count. Now you know it. I have guarded this secret with my life. With the life of my husband, who I love every bit as much as you love your dear, lovely Amélie. I am telling you now because I want you to understand that I trust you with our lives. You can trust me with her life, too.”

“I do trust you, personally,” Gérard says. Then he hesitates. “But…there is a difference between my friend Gabriel and Blackwatch Commander Reyes. You divide yourself into two, and it is this that concerns me.”

“I do, Gérard,” Gabe says wearily. “I know you do, too. We all do. Men like me and you and Jack, with so much blood on our hands…it’s the only way we can live with ourselves. We do the hard things that other people are unwilling or unable to do, in order to make the world a safer place for everyone. We can’t bring all those ugly, violent things home to the people we love. So we build walls to keep out the horror.”

“I know this, Gabriel,” Gérard sighs. “You must forgive me, for I am in great distress. I fear I have been uncharitable to you.”

Gabe is saying that there’s nothing to forgive, when the intel center door bangs open and Jack beckons urgently. They hurry into the room and Jack shuts the door behind them.

“Call coming in now,” Gallegos says, handing Gérard his phone. “Agent Lacroix, you’re on. Keep ‘em talking if you can.”

 

 


	91. Comme des Animaux

Jesse finds himself sitting naked on the corner of Ben’s bed, uncertain what to do with himself. Luisa had told them to go get ready, and then she’d run off to her bedroom to do…something girls do. Jesse has no idea what that could be. Ben comes back from the walk-in closet with a little steel case that looks like a toolbox or something. He sets it on the floor beside the bed and opens it, and Jesse can see some bottles of lube and plugs and things. He swallows the butterflies in his stomach and tries to look more confident than he feels.

“What’s all this stuff?” he says, peering into the box.

“Lube, graduated plugs, vibrators,” Ben says. “The usual.”

“Ah, yeah,” Jesse says. “The, uh…usual.”

“These are our personal things, Jesse,” Ben laughs. “I don’t use them for work or anything.”

“No, of course not. I didn’t think…” Jesse trails off awkwardly and clears his throat.

“What’s up, Jesse? Everything ok?”

“Hm? Yep,” Jesse nods, rubbing his hands together uneasily. “Everything’s…cool.”

Ben smiles. “Nervous, huh?”

“Yeah, a little,” Jesse admits. He glances toward the door then leans forward, lowering his voice. “Ben, listen…I never done it with two people at once before.”

“Really? Are you sure you want to?”

“Fuck yeah, I want to. I just…I ain’t got a clue what to do, is all. I don’t want to like…do somethin’ stupid and fuck it all up.”

Ben smiles up up at him with those big, bright blue eyes and lays a hand on his knee. “Don’t worry, Jesse. I’m a professional, remember? I’ll steer you around the curves. And Lulu is easy to please, anyway.”

“This somethin’ y’all do a lot?”

Ben shrugs. “Not a _whole_ lot. Lulu mostly dates other models, and a lot of them are bisexual, so we’ve played a few times.”

“But…I thought you was gay.”

“It’s not a binary, Jesse,” Ben laughs. “You should know that. I’m like…ninety percent gay? Lulu and I don’t have sex with each other unless there’s another boy involved. But she’s really fun to play with. Oh, and she’ll probably want to be on top. She’s a little Dommy.”

“Ooh,” Jesse says, raising an eyebrow. “I like that.”

“Slapping, biting, light choking…all that ok?” Ben asks.

Jesse grins. “You know it is.”

“I _do_ know,” Ben laughs. Jesse leans in to kiss him, but he draws back. “Hang on. You can kiss me on the lips, but I’m not comfortable with open mouthed kissing or anything yet. My teeth are still fucked up, and it’s really…embarrassing.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Jesse says, gently stroking Ben’s bruised cheek. “I’m so sorry. We’re gonna get ‘em all fixed up next week, alright?”

Ben lowers his eyes shyly and nods.

They hear Luisa’s footsteps clicking on the wood floor and turn to look as she steps in the door. She has let her long, wavy, black-brown hair fall loose. It flows around her shoulders and ends just above her small, perky breasts. Her nipples are pale pink against her creamy-white skin, and she has a little silver ring in her bellybutton. Her only clothing consists of a microscopic black thong that sits low on her narrow hips, and very high, black stiletto heels. Jesse lets out his breath slowly, giving a whistle of appreciation.

“I think mon loup approves, minou,” she says, slinging her hip to one side and striking a pose. “Merci, Jesse.”

She glides over to the bed with impressive grace, considering the height of her heels, and stands between Jesse’s legs. She strokes his hair indolently as he pushes his face against her flat stomach and breathes in her warm, sweet scent. He hasn’t been with a woman in a long time. He’d almost forgotten how soft they are and how good they smell.

“Aïe!” she yelps, playfully swatting his arm. “Don’t bite so hard, werewolf!”

“Sorry, ma’am,” Jesse says. He presses a kiss into the spot he’d nipped and grins up at her. “You’re so sweet I mistook you for a dessert.”

“I am not a food, you bad boy,” she laughs. “Minou, take those off and come help me.”

Jesse runs his eyes over Ben’s lithe, muscular body as he peels off his black briefs. His already stiff cock springs out and bounces as he moves over to join them. Jesse’s cock swells in response. He watches raptly as Ben steps behind Luisa and draws her tiny panties down over her long, silky legs, then holds her hand as she steps out of them. She gives Jesse’s chin a playful tickle and winks, then crawls onto the bed and lies on her stomach, propped up on her elbows.

“You must lie down with me, mes animaux,” she pouts. “I will get cold.”

Jesse doesn’t wait to be asked twice. He climbs over her, starting at her ankles and slowly kissing all the way up her long legs, over her taut, round ass, and the graceful curve of her spine. He rests the full weight of his broad, muscular frame on her slender body and sinks his teeth gently into the delicate, fragrant skin on the back of her neck.

She shivers and laughs. “I like this kind of biting much better. Minou, where are you? Jesse and I will be having all the fun.”

“Oh, I’m having plenty of fun watching,” Ben grins, but he flops down beside them anyway.

“Off, mon loup. You will squish me,” Luisa says. Jesse rolls onto his side, and she sits up. She taps her bottom lip with her forefinger, as if considering how to proceed. “I think…I would like to watch the two of you for a little while. But Jesse, you must be gentle with my minou. He is still injured.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jesse says solemnly.

He and Ben look at each other and burst out laughing. Then Ben pushes Jesse down, making him lie back with his head between Luisa’s breasts. Luisa strokes Jesse’s sides with her fingernails, raising goosebumps all over his stomach as Ben straddles his thighs. He holds out his hand and Luisa spits into it, then he wraps it around both their cocks and begins to stroke them together.

At this inconvenient moment, the vivid image of that beautiful, black-haired boy in that castle across the sea fills Jesse’s vision. A heavy pang of grief stabs through his chest. He grits his teeth, forcing himself to concentrate on what he’s doing, fucking urgently into Ben’s spit-slicked fist, until the unwelcome ghost of his beloved passes away and he comes back to himself. His abdominal muscles are already beginning to tense and shake as aching pulses of pleasure shoot up through his gut.

“Hang on, darlin’!” he gasps. “Hang on, I don’t wanna come yet.”

“You had better not,” Luisa purrs into his ear. “I want to play with you, too.”

“Ben, why don’t you come up here, sweetheart,” Jesse says. “Let’s see if we can’t all play together.”

He sits up and Luisa slides out from behind him, then he falls onto his back. Ben kneels beside him and Luisa takes his place straddling his lap. Jesse takes Ben’s smooth, hard cock in one hand, and reaches down with the other to find the soft, warm cleft between Luisa’s legs. He spreads her vulva apart and caresses the little swollen bump at the crest with his fingers. She bends down and pushes her face against Jesse’s and they lick and suck Ben’s cock between their mouths. Ben gives a little groan and clutches the headboard to steady himself.

“Lulu,” he pants. “I want—I want to fuck Jesse’s mouth.”

Luisa nods. She sits up and watches as Ben eases his cock into Jesse’s open, eager mouth. He leans over and laps her erect nipples with his tongue as Jesse sucks him. Jesse pushes his fingers inside her hot, swollen, dripping wet pussy. His cock drools. It’s so hard he can feel his blood pulsing in it.

He pulls back long enough to say, “Ride me, Lu,” then wraps his mouth around Ben again.

Luisa takes him in her hand and slowly lowers her snug little slit onto Jesse’s big, rigid shaft, taking him all the way to the base. At the same time, Ben falls on all fours over Jesse and begins to fuck his mouth in earnest. Jesse’s head spins, dizzy with the dueling sensations—Ben thrusting into the back of his throat as Luisa bounces on his aching cock. His heart is pounding. He’s going to come too fast. He taps Ben, who withdraws.

“I wanna get Lu off first,” he says. “Then I want you to come in my mouth while I come. Think you can hold out?”

Ben grins. “Yeah, I think I can.”

Jesse takes Luisa’s ass in both hands and plunges into her, watching her little round breasts bounce with each thrust. Her eyes flutter shut and she bites her bottom lip, cheeks flushing like roses. He feels her muscles clamping down on him. He tilts his pelvis upward and holds it, letting her fuck herself on his cock. She digs her fingernails into his sides and rolls her hips, grinding against his pubic bone. Then she gives a shuddering wail, and he feels her insides constricting and squeezing on him deliciously, her body shaking all over as she comes. Jesse opens his mouth. Ben holds his head still and thrusts into the back of his throat, choking him with his cock as Jesse pounds into Luisa’s tender, convulsing hole with his. She’s slick with sweat and beginning to go limp, and Jesse has to steady her so she doesn’t topple over.

“Jesse, come now,” she almost whines. “Come for me, minou!”

Ben gives a hoarse cry and goes rigid as his cock throbs in Jesse’s mouth, flooding it with hot, salty semen. Jesse opens his throat and swallows Ben’s come as his cock spasms forcefully, spewing his own inside Luisa in intense, aching bursts.

Luisa collapses onto Jesse’s chest and Ben collapses onto the mattress beside him, and they lie there laughing and trying to catch their collective breath.

“Holy—holy shit,” Jesse puffs. “Y’all sure know how—to make a fella feel useful.”

Luisa lifts her head and kisses him, licking his lips and tugging at them with hers. “Mmmm. You taste like minou, mon loup. I like this very much.”

She pushes herself up off of Jesse’s overstimulated, half-hard cock, making him yelp and twitch, at which she giggles profusely. Then she kisses his forehead and totters unsteadily out the door, still wearing her very high heels.

“Hey, be careful, Lu!” Jesse laughs. “Where’s she goin’?”

“Girl stuff,” Ben says, snuggling into the crook of his shoulder. “She’ll be back.”

“Girls are nice,” Jesse sighs dreamily, already half-unconscious in his euphoric daze. “All soft and silky. I guess some boys are soft and silky, too. Though they ain’t very nice.”

Ben frowns and looks up at him questioningly, but Jesse’s eyes are closed. After a few minutes, Luisa comes back and snuggles up to Jesse on the other side. He kisses her lips, then Ben’s, and the three lie intertwined together, stroking each other’s naked bodies, and gradually dozing off to deep, contented sleep.

 

 

 

Gérard takes a deep breath, then raises the phone to ear. “Lacroix.”

After a delay of about two seconds, there is a weird, staticky pop and the audio comes in. A dry, rasping, metallic voice, unlike anything they’ve ever heard slithers through the intel center’s speakers.

“Gérard…Lacroix,” it says heavily, as if it is an effort to form the sounds. “You know…why we are speaking.”

“Who are you and what are your terms,” Gérard says, in a clipped, professional tone.

“Are you…alone…Gérard?” the voice rasps.

“You know that I am not,” Gérard replies flatly.

The voice makes a horrible, scraping sound, like claws being dragged across sheet-metal. The listeners realize with a shudder that this is apparently its laugh.

“Gabriel…Reyes. Why…is she so important…I wonder.”

“Do you want to play guessing games all night?” Gérard asks shortly. “Or can we get to business.”

“So impatient,” the voice taunts. “I think…I’ll hang on to my little toy. Just…a while longer.”

“There is nothing for you to gain by retaining her longer. Let us talk about this now.”

There is another hollow, sepulchral laugh, and the line goes dead.

“God damn it!” Gérard says, slamming his fist onto the table.

Gabe looks at Gallegos, who shakes his head.

“What…what do we do now?” Gérard asks, glancing anxiously back and forth between Gabe and Jack.

“We wait for them to make contact again,” Jack says. “Gabe and I are not going anywhere. We’ll be here 24-7 until they call again, alright?”

“Oui, oiu,” Gérard replies weakly, falling into a chair.

Gabe grabs a bottle of water and opens it for him. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”

“I do not know. Perhaps…nine hours?”

“Hicks, go get Agent Oberkampf, will you? And have someone send up some food and coffee. Like, all the coffee they have.”

“Yes, sir,” Agent Hicks says, hopping up and heading out the door.

Jack sits down beside Agent Lacroix. “Gérard, it may take a while for them to make contact again. It could be hours. It could be days. The best thing you can do for Mel right now is take care of yourself. You have to be alert when you talk to them, ok?”

“I understand, Commander,” Gérard says. “Thank you.”

After a few minutes, Claudia comes in with her med bag. Gabe and Jack step away to the corner of the room while she talks with her friend and checks his vitals.

“What the fuck was with that voice?” Jack says. “Why even bother to use a modulator? They have to know we’ll crack it right away.”

Gabe shakes his head. “I don’t know. I think maybe it’s less about disguise and more about terrorizing Gérard. They sounded like they wanted—”

“Like they wanted us to think they’re crazy,” Jack finishes his thought. “Yeah, that was my impression too.”

Gabe smiles fondly. He hasn’t been in the field with Jack for a long time. He’d almost forgotten how rapid and razor-sharp his mind is in these situations.

Jack looks up and catches him. “What?”

“What, what?”

“You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“That memory-lane look. Like I’m reminding you of something I can’t remember.”

“It’s just…you’re really good at your job, Jack. I’ve been babying you a lot lately and…I dunno. Sometimes I forget that you’re the boss for a reason.”

“You’ve been babying me since we met. And I thought you said the reason I got my job was that I’m a blonde, all-American farm boy who won’t scare the white people.”

“Definitely,” Gabe laughs. “But it’s also because you deserve it. You deserve it a lot more than I would have.”

Jack smiles softly and looks away.

“Jack.”

“What?”

“Don’t cry.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to cry, you asshole. Do you think they really know you’re here, or was that just a bluff?”

“They can’t know for sure unless they’ve got a spy within Overwatch. We don’t log our flight plans with the local air traffic authorities and we kept the TAAV stealthed all the way.”

“I don’t like the idea that we can’t trust our own people. You said Jesse thinks we’ve got a leak?”

“Maybe. Jesse thinks a lot of things. What?”

“Oberkampf wants you,” Jack says. He’s pointing behind Gabe.

Gabe turns to see her approaching. “Hey, Claudia, what’s up?”

“Agent Lacroix’s vitals are ok, boss. His blood pressure is elevated, which makes sense, and he’s pretty dehydrated, but it’s nothing regular fluids won’t take care of.”

“Thanks, Agent Oberkampf. We’re having food and everything sent up soon,” Jack says. He holds out his hand to shake hers. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.”

“Uh…no, sir,” Claudia says. “I mean—not really. You were at my swearing in ceremony, but there were like…a hundred of us.”

“Well, it’s good to meet you now, in any case. You’ve been taking good care of our Blackwatch staff. Thank you.”

“I’m doing my best, sir,” Claudia says, beaming under the Strike Commander’s praise. “We have a lot of great people. Though, uh…Commander Reyes can be a bit of a handful sometimes.”

“Me? A handful?” Gabe says, all injured innocence. “I think you’re mistaken. I am an absolute joy to work with. Tell her, Jack.”

“He is the most arrogant, bad-tempered prick I ever had the misfortune to meet,” Jack says. “But no one else would agree to work with me, so…” he trails off and shrugs.

“I’m honored to work with both of you, sir,” Claudia smiles. “You’re good Commanders and you care a lot about your people.”

“Speak for yourself,  _Claws_ ,” Gabe retorts. “I don’t give a shit about any of you.”

“Claws?” Jack says, raising an eyebrow. “How much fun did you guys have in Japan?”

Claudia’s fair skin instantly turns bright pink. “That’s—just a nickname Jesse uses, sir. How did you even hear about it, boss?”

“You have no idea what you’ve gotten into. Jesse refers to you as ‘Claws’ as if it’s your proper name, now. I had to tell him not to put it in his report.”

“Yeah,” Jack laughs. “Don’t let Jesse get away with something once unless you want him to keep doing it forever.”

Gabe crosses his arms. “Something you wanna tell me, Jack?”

“Yeah. You’re a dick.”

“I know,” Gabe grins. “That’s part of my charm.”

The door to the intel center opens and Hicks comes in carrying a box of disposable coffee cups, followed by another agent pushing a rolling cart from the dining hall. There are several carafes of coffee on it, and the lower shelf is stacked with plastic boxes containing the requested food.

“Oh, excellent,” Claudia says. “Excuse me, sirs. I’m going to see if I can’t get Agent Lacroix to eat something.”

Gabe and Jack watch Claudia go and inspect the food containers, choose something, and bring it to Gérard. She talks to him softly for a minute, then he nods and opens the box, and even takes a few listless bites of whatever kind of sandwich the dining facility has sent. As he is doing this, she fills a cup of coffee, and delivers that to him as well.

“I like her,” Jack says to Gabe. “Especially after she told you off in the TAAV. She’s certainly not scared of you.”

“Not in the least,” Gabe smiles. “She’s great, isn’t she?”

Claudia goes to the cart again and comes back carrying cups of coffee for both Commanders.

“Thank you, Agent Oberkampf,” Jack says.

“Thanks, Claws,” Gabe grins.

“No problem, sirs,” Claudia says. “Um…Commander Reyes? Could we speak privately for a moment?”

“Everyone wants to talk to Gabe tonight,” Jack sighs. “I’m starting to feel like a third wheel.”

“Oh…uh—I’m sorry, sir—” Claudia begins.

“He’s kidding,” Gabe cuts in. “Jack, don’t pick on my agents. You mind if we step out?”

“Go ahead,” Jack says. “I’ll make sure Gérard gets some more food in him.”

“Thanks,” Gabe says, turning to go with Claudia. “Hey, Claws, did you know Jack renamed the security lockup just to win an argument with me?”

“Oh! We were all wondering what that Brig memo was about,” Jack hears her saying as she and Gabe exit through the steel door. “Vasquez said maybe Athena was going HAL-9000 on us.”

He smiles. It’s good to see Gabe getting along so well with his people. He almost always does, but Jack rarely gets to see it. And Oberkampf seems like more than a match for Gabe’s stubbornness. Hopefully she’ll be around a while.

 

As they turn the corner in the hallway, Claudia hastens her pace considerably, and Gabe has to trot to catch up with her.

“Hey, you late for a date or something?” he says. “Where are we going?”

Claudia stops short, glances about them, then grabs his collar with both hands and drags him down to her level, placing her mouth against his ear.

“Firing range, boss,” she says, in a barely audible whisper. “Only place guaranteed not to be wired.”

She lets go and Gabe stands up, looking startled. But he gestures for her to go on, so they continue down the hall to a stairwell. They briskly descend three flights of stairs, then go down another long corridor through two sets of double doors, then through the secure door to the deserted, dimly-lit firing range.

“What the fuck is going on?” Gabe asks, after the heavy, soundproof door bangs shut behind them. “What’s wrong?”

“Sir, it wasn’t appropriate to bring this up with you while we were still on the job in Hanamura and I haven’t seen you since we got back,” she says. “We need to talk.”

“I see. So that shit about how you came from the Paris bureau and Agent Lacroix is your friend—”

“That was true and it is one of my reasons for being here. But this is important, sir. I can’t allow you to go out on another combat mission until you answer some questions for me.”

Gabe leans against the wall and sips his coffee unconcernedly. “Sure, ask away.”

“I need to know what your augmentations are. I know you said you’re not like the other SEP soldiers and you’re clearly not. But I’d like you to explain this.”

She holds out a closed fist. Gabe extends his palm and she drops something small and heavy into it.

He looks at it, then back at her. “This is a spent 5.56 millimeter bullet, probably from an assault rifle. What does it have to do with me?”

“You dropped it on the seat of the Shimada transport vehicle after we got away from those Talon guys. And you said you were shot fifty times. Fifty. And yet you were walking an hour later.”

“My body heals very quickly, Claudia. I told you that.”

“Yeah, you did. But I want to know how. I _need_ to know how. Dr. Ziegler may be the only person in the world qualified to treat you, but she’s not going to be on missions with you. I’m your combat medic. I will be. What if we get into a situation where your life is in imminent danger and I can’t…I can’t save you because you wouldn’t explain it to me. Is it fair to put me in that position, sir?”

“Claudia, if there is a situation in which my life is in that much imminent danger, I doubt you or Angela or anyone would be able to help me,” Gabe says, handing the bullet back. “We didn’t need to come all the way down here to talk about this. It’s not a big secret that I’m enhanced. Jack is enhanced too. That’s why no one asks why he’s running Overwatch when he looks like he’s in his twenties.”

“Is he enhanced like you? Like…with the smoke thing and the…eyes and everything?”

Gabe’s heart stops. He stands frozen, staring blankly back at her. She can’t possibly have seen what the nanites did to those Talon mercs. She was back at the car with Jesse and Hanzo by then. How the fuck could she have found out about it?

He swallows in a dry throat. “What…what smoke thing?”

“In the car,” she says, shivering and hugging herself as if the room has suddenly gotten very cold. “In the car with those men. Before you…um. Before you neutralized the driver. You were…your skin had this…black vapor coming off it. Like, all around you.”

“Claudia…those men were threatening to kill us, and the vehicle we were riding in wrecked a minute later. That’s a lot of stress all at once. It was pretty dark, too. Maybe your mind was playing tricks on you.”

Claudia’s eyes flash and her jaw works. “Sir, can I ask you something? Did you hire me because you think I’m a fucking idiot?”

“Of course not.”

“Good. Then don’t treat me like one. I am a medical doctor with plenty of combat experience. I don’t get stressed out under fire and see things that aren’t there. And if I did, I’d be damn well able to tell the difference between a stress-induced delusion and reality.” She points her finger at him. “You had black vapor coming out of your body. You looked right into my face from eighteen inches away and your pupils were glowing red like the fucking Terminator and I want to know why! You can’t just dismiss—”

She stops short, seeing the horror-stricken look on her Commander’s face. His beautiful amber-brown skin has gone ashen and the hand in which he’s holding his coffee is trembling.

“Sir? Are you alright?” she asks, stepping cautiously toward him.

“My…my eyes?” he asks. “What…happened to my eyes?”

She looks into his face with an alarmed expression. “Boss…you can’t actually be unaware of what’s going on with you…right?”

“I don’t—I don’t know. I’ve never seen myself when I…when that happens to me.”

Gabe slides down the wall and sits on the floor, unable to stand beneath the weight of this new horror. The next metamorphosis as his body turns slowly into a machine. Jack’s trembling, panicked face rises before his mind’s eye. Recoiling from him in terror. Beating impotently at his chest with his fists. What if these episodes aren’t just hallucinations after all. But he had also described long hair. This thought comforts Gabe somewhat. He’d certainly have noticed himself suddenly growing long hair. And red eyes are pretty standard fairytale monster stuff. It might be a coincidence.

“Fuck me,” Claudia says, anxiously twisting and tugging at her ponytail. “This is much worse than I thought, boss. How can you not know what’s happening to your body? Why haven’t you—”

“Denial, ok?” Gabe snaps, shooting her a fierce glance. Then he shuts his eyes and lets his head fall back against the wall. “I’m in denial. About what’s happening to me. I don’t know because I don’t _want_ to know.”

Claudia bites her lip, hesitates, then comes over and sits down beside him.

“You gotta talk to me, boss,” she says gently. “Maybe I can help. If not, at least you’re talking to someone about it. Plus, you’ve got doctor-patient confidentiality with me. So like…you know I legally can’t tell anyone.”

He opens his eyes and casts a sidelong glance at her, then closes them again.

“I don’t think you’d tell anyone,” he sighs. “You’re one of the few people I actually trust, Claudia.”

This is literally the kindest thing Claudia has heard her Commander say to anyone. Her throat chokes with emotion and her lower lip trembles. “Me, sir…?”

“Don’t get all gooey about it, it’s only because I could just kill you if you blabbed, ok?”

“Yeah, ok,” she grins.

“It is!”

“No, I totally believe you. I totally—”

“Alright, shut the fuck up,” he grumbles. “Insubordinate little shit. You’re still in trouble for sassing me in front of the team, by the way.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re so mean and scary—I mean, yes sir.”

Gabe looks down and fidgets with the plastic lid of his coffee cup. “So…are you ready for a long fucking story?”

 

 

A little over an hour later, Gabe and Claudia are still sitting on the floor of the darkened firing range. She has taken possession of Gabe’s coffee and is drinking it as he smokes his fourth cigarette.

“Boss…I understand what he’s been through,” she says. “But you can’t keep it from him forever.”

“I know, and I don’t plan to. But things are in flux right now, with his memory coming back and everything with Jesse, and now Mel being held hostage…I don’t want to add another thing to all the strain that’s on him mentally.”

“Well, he certainly doesn’t need to find out by seeing you transform into a smoke monster on a mission.”

Gabe glowers at her. “Smoke monster, huh? Give me my coffee back.”

“Uh, no, we made a deal. You get to smoke cigarettes and I get your coffee. But I do apologize. It wasn’t as bad as I made it sound.”

“Well I’m glad to hear it, because ‘transform into a smoke monster’ sounds pretty fucking bad.”

“I really am sorry for putting it like that, sir. You didn’t…transform exactly. It was just like…you were wearing it. Over your torso and head. Like a smoke hoodie.”

Gabe laughs outright. “A smoke _hoodie_? Now you’re making it sound cool.”

“Boss, no one thinks hoodies are cool but you.”

“That’s because everyone else is lame. And don’t act like you don’t like my clothes,” he says, pretending to straighten his collar. “I’ve seen you checking me out.”

“Oh, give me a break! You’re old enough to be my grandfather! Well, ok…maybe a little.”

“I wish I’d known thirty years ago that young people would still think I’m hot at my age. Maybe I’d have reconsidered the old ball and chain.”

“No you wouldn’t have. You and Commander Morrison are like…very obviously meant for each other.”

“He’s pretty hot, too, huh?”

“Yeah, he’s…wow. But don’t tell him I said so. I’ll deny it.”

“Wow? I didn’t get a wow.” Gabe shakes his head dejectedly. “That’s racism for you. Everyone thinks the blonde white guy is more attractive.”

“You asshole, you know what I meant,” Claudia laughs. “You are both equally attractive, equally unavailable, homosexual men and it doesn’t matter what I think anyway. Look, I hate to derail this important topic, boss, but we still have to figure out what we’re going to do about this situation.”

“Mel and Gérard are my friends. I have to get her back. If it means I go in alone, so be it.”

“There’s no way Commander Morrison is going to let you go in alone, boss.”

“It’s either that or I don’t go at all,” Gabe says. “But I can’t just tell Jack I’m going to sit this one out. I’ll still have to explain it to him.”

“Oh shit!” Claudia exclaims, giving Gabe a start.

“Jesus, Claws,” he says. “Just…warn me if you’re going to yelp like that. What is it?”

“Boss, you can’t go on this mission,” she says urgently.

“You getting loopy? How much caffeine was in that coffee?”

“No, it’s not the…well, I’m a little hopped up, yeah. But listen, it’s those Talon people that have Madame Lacroix, right?”

“Yes.”

“The same Talon people that put those bugs in your room at Shimada Castle.”

“Oh…fuck.”

“Yeah. We know they’ve been able to successfully incapacitate you in the past—”

“And they already claimed to know I’m here.”

“Right. So there’s no reason to think they won’t try it again. And it doesn’t affect regular humans, just you because of your nanites, so you have every reason to—”

“To stay out of their trap,” Gabe finishes, looking her grimly in the eye. “But what if the trap isn’t for me.”

“I don’t know, sir. But we have no reason to think they know Commander Morrison is here. They do know you’re here, and we know for a fact they can incapacitate you. One way or another, you’d be placing yourself in harm’s way.”

“But if I don’t go with him…” Gabe looks down at his hands. “Claudia, they could hurt him. I couldn’t live with myself—”

“Boss, with all due respect, I think you’re forgetting that Commander Morrison is one of the best soldiers and bravest men in the world. I know you want to protect him, but he isn’t going to let Madame Lacroix die out of fear for his own safety.”

“Neither am I,” Gabe says firmly. “No. I’m going. Come what may.”

“And I’m going with you,” Claudia says, just as firmly.

“God damn it,” Gabe laughs. “Since when do I have to keep ordering my agents _not_ to work?”

“Since you started wanting them not to, I guess. Speaking of which, where is Jesse?”

“He’s…taking care of a sick friend. He’s pretty wrecked over Hanzo, and I’d rather he rest and get himself together than run right back out into the fray again.”

“Oh, good. I’m glad he’s got someone to take care of. He needs something to distract him or he’ll drive himself nuts.”

“You know Jesse pretty well, then,” Gabe smiles.

“Yeah, and I’ve been through bad breakups before. You hang out with friends, cry a lot, get drunk, and go get laid. It’s not rocket science.”

“Well, he’s probably doing those last two things, at least. His sick friend also happens to be a very attractive boy.”

“Good for him! I just hope he doesn’t do the rebound thing and wind up worse off. Hanzo was a fucking heartbreaker.”

“You know, I told Jack that very thing and I got in trouble for it.”

Claudia laughs and pats his arm sympathetically. “Of course you did! You can’t say that to your husband, boss!”

“My—I didn’t say we were married…did I?”

“Do men usually refer to a boyfriend as the old ball and chain?”

“Fuck. Well I’m trusting you keep that to yourself, too. It’s all part of one big…trust ball.”

“Trust ball? Who’s loopy now.”

“Me. Let’s go get something to eat before I blurt out any national security secrets. Jack’s probably getting jealous by now, anyway. It’s been like, two hours.”

Gabe stands and helps Claudia to her feet, then immediately has to catch her, as her leg has fallen asleep and she goes tumbling sideways. He helps her limp along till the feeling returns, taking special care to tease her about it as much as possible on the way.

 

When they return to the intel center, they see that Jack has had three cots brought in and set up along the far wall. Gerard is lying in one of them, smoking a cigarette. Claudia goes over and kneels beside it, talking quietly to him, and Gabe strolls off to pour himself a new cup of coffee.

“Hey,” Jack says, leaning on the counter next to him. “You want to hear something weird?”

Gabe smirks. “Always.”

“The boys ran the recording of that voice on the call through about a hundred filters. The modulation won’t come off.”

“What do you mean it won’t come off?”

“I mean at a certain point, the signal just breaks down. The voice _is_ modulation. Meaning it’s—”

“A bot,” Gabe says. “Fucking perfect. Who lets a deranged wind-up toy do their negotiating for them.”

“It’s entirely possible that the thing is a member of Talon, you know. A lot of them have been able to break their personality presets and—”

“Yeah, I recall. I was at the Shambali monastery.” Gabe sips his coffee. “I guess it’ll be easier for me to find them, then. I can hear those bots from a hundred yards.”

Jack shifts uncomfortably and looks at the floor. “Gabe…if you—”

“I’m sorry, Jack. I know that makes you—”

“Will you please stop fucking interrupting me!” Jack interrupts. “You haven’t let me finish a fucking sentence since we started talking. I was going to say that if you can locate the bot from outside the perimeter of wherever they’re holding Mel, I’ll take the team in myself. If Talon can incapacitate you, I don’t want to risk them using you to get the upper hand.”

“Jack…come on. I’m a big boy. And it’s my team.”

“Gabe, I am a big boy too, and it’s _my_ fucking team. I’m not asking you to stay out, I’m telling you. I will not risk your life or Mel’s safety by putting you in that position.”

Gabe sighs, then he shakes his head and laughs.

“What’s so funny?”

“This conversation sounds really familiar, is all. Ok. You’re the boss. I’ll stay outside the perimeter. Providing they ever call back. I feel like—”

“Like we’re getting screwed with somehow. Yeah, I know.”

“Who’s interrupting now?” Gabe smiles.

Jack tosses his head. “I don’t interrupt. I’m the boss. I talk when I feel like talking and you have to listen.”

“Jack.”

“What.”

“You are so fucking sexy right now, I’m literally going crazy.”

Jack grins, lighting up his big, brilliant blue eyes. “I look pretty good in black, right?”

“You look…fucking killer in black, baby. But it’s not that. I like it when you get all Strike-Commander and start bossing me around like this.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re so strong and…dominant.”

“Well, maybe I’ll take you to one of those empty offices and make you suck my dick.”

Gabe chokes on his sip of coffee and covers his mouth, coughing and sputtering. Jack laughs and hands him some napkins.

“Jesus Christ, Jack,” Gabe hisses under his breath, mopping the coffee from his moustache and goatee. “What are you trying to do to me? I’m gonna have to go fucking jerk it in the men’s room just thinking about you _saying_ that!”

Jack raises a blonde eyebrow. “Do it.”

“What?”

“I said do it. Right now.”

Gabe eyes him warily. “I can’t…tell if you’re fucking with me.”

Jack crosses his arms on his broad chest and squares his shoulders, looking Gabe dead in the eye. “I am giving you an order, Commander Reyes. Go to the men’s room and jerk yourself off. I want video of you coming to prove it.”

Gabe’s cock swells and strains against the fly of his tight trousers. He stares into Jack’s fierce blue eyes for a few heartbeats.

Then he says, “Yes, sir,” and walks briskly out the door.

Once he’s in the hallway, he realizes he doesn’t know where the fucking men’s room is, and he can’t think straight because all the blood in his body is apparently in his cock, making it chafe against his underwear with each step. He rounds several corners, turns back, tries another one, and finally finds the elusive restroom. Who fucking designed this place, M.C. Escher?

By the time he gets into stall and slams the door shut behind him, his cock is throbbing and has leaked all over the front of his black briefs. He yanks his fly down and hitches the waistband of his briefs under his balls, then leans one hand against wall, wringing himself feverishly. He remembers at the last moment that Jack demanded proof. He pulls out his phone, gets his cock in frame, and hits record. He gives himself a few more rapid jerks and practically explodes, his cock convulsing violently in his hand as the swollen, overheated head spits out thick, white jets of semen into the toilet.

He falls against the door of the stall, panting and lightheaded. He addresses the video to Jack’s contact and has just hit send, when he hears the restroom door opening, and someone entering. He hurriedly buttons himself up and flushes the toilet, then steps out the stall door and almost runs headfirst into Jack, who is standing there smiling and looking at his phone.

Gabe grins. “Proof.”

Jack looks up at him. “Very good. Good boy.”

To Gabe’s astonishment (and intense arousal), Jack shoves him backward into the stall he just left and shuts the door, leaning his back on it. He holds Gabe’s eyes with his as he unbuttons his fly and eases his hard cock out of his white briefs.

“Well?” he says. “Get on your knees and suck my dick, Reyes.”

Gabe drops like a rock. He presses his face into Jack’s crotch and breathes in his warm, musky scent as he cups and caresses his balls. Then he takes Jack’s cock in one slow swallow, all the way to back of his throat. Jack strokes the short, dark hair on Gabe’s scalp with his fingertips as Gabe sucks him urgently, almost desperately. Like he _needs_ it. He hums approvingly and wraps his hand around the back of Gabe’s head, pushing it down on his cock till he gags.

“I’m gonna come in your mouth,” he says hoarsely. “Show it to me before you swallow it.”

Gabe growls in his throat and sucks him harder and faster. The tension in Jack’s cock builds, swells, and explodes, all the pressure in his tight, aching balls unwinding and dissolving as he comes in Gabe’s mouth. His body jerks and twitches and he doubles over, holding onto Gabe’s head. Gabe pushes him back upright and looks up into his eyes, mouth wide open, just as Jack had said.

Jack lays a hand on his cheek. “Good. Swallow it now.”

Gabe makes a little grimace as he swallows, then gets to his feet and presses his body against Jack’s, kissing him soft and deep.

“Jack,” he says.

“Hm?”

“I love you.” 

Jack grins. “I know.”

 

 


	92. Charenton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: Jesse's story arc in this chapter ranges ahead a bit and gets chronologically out of sync with the narrative as a whole, but I'll get back to the Paris stuff and everything will sync back up! Don't worry! 
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Hours pass. Then days. The mood in the intel center is heavy and stifling. Agent Lacroix is silent and listless. Gabe is irritable and snarly. The usually boisterous Blackwatch staff are deferential and talk in muted voices. Even Claudia’s irrepressible spirit seems to have been dampened. The only person who appears to be entirely unaffected is the Strike Commander. His physical energy is impressive even to Gabe, whose body is almost immune to fatigue, but his mental stamina is downright awe-inspiring. He is alert, brisk, and relentlessly fresh, and his youthful face never shows a sign of fatigue or ill humor. He seems to be sustaining the entire company by his will alone, making them eat and sleep regularly, engaging them in chit-chat, and generally being handsome and agreeable.

When Gérard’s phone rings at last, it’s not only a relief because it’s another chance to find Amélie, but a chance to end this exhausting suspense. Hicks and Gallegos snap to alertness and Claudia sits up with a start from where she’s been dozing on a cot (the rest of the team aren’t allowed to hang around in here, but it’s understood that the doc has special privileges). Jack and Gabe stand across the table from Gérard as he answers the call.

“Lacroix.”

They hear the same staticky pop as before, and their ears are greeted by the same hellish, metallic voice.

“Gérard…Lacroix,” it says. “So good…to speak with you…again.”

“Are you prepared to discuss your terms?” Gérard says, keeping his voice admirably steady in that smooth, French way.

“Manners,” the voice hisses sharply. “I believe…the lady…would like a word.”

There is a sound like the speaker bumping against something.

“Gérard?” Amélie’s weak, trembling voice says.

“Amélie,” Gérard says softly, choking back the distress in his voice. “Ça va aller. Est-ce que tu es blessée?”

“Non, mon amour,” Amélie mumbles feverishly. “Mais j'ai tellement peur. Il fait si froid et si sombre—”

A pang of anguish twists Gérard’s handsome face as her voice is muffled suddenly, as if a hand has been clamped over it.

“So you see,” the rasping voice says. “She is…alive. You would prefer…that she remain so…I presume.”

“I would, yes,” Gérard says, returning with some effort to his former professional clip. “What are your terms?”

“You…are not in command…” the voice says. “I will speak…to the one…who can make such…arrangements.”

“I am fully authorized to make such arrangements.”

“No…I want Gabriel…Reyes.”

Gabe and Jack look at each other. Jack nods. This suggests the abductors do not, in fact, know that Commander Morrison is present. Gabe steps over and Gérard hands him the phone.

“Reyes,” Gabe says nonchalantly, like a businessman on a call with a client.

“Hello…Gabriel,” the voice grates heavily.

“Why don’t you tell me your name,” Gabe says. “Then we can chat more personably.”

“No…” the voice says, in a low, lingering hiss. “No…we will do without that…for now…Gabriel.”

“Alright, then,” Gabe says unconcernedly. “Your preference. What are your terms?”

“Thirty-six million…United Nations…Standard Currency.”

Gabe looks at Jack and makes a perplexed face. Jack shrugs and lifts his hands as if to say he doesn’t know.

“Agreed,” Gabe says. “Thirty-six million UNSC. It’ll take me a little time to get it. Unless…will you guys take a personal check?”

There is a beat of silence, as if the thing has been thrown off its trajectory by this flippant joke. Jack glares at Gabe. Gérard goes ash white and Claudia glares at Gabe, too. He holds up a finger as if telling them to wait. Several more tense beats pass, then he makes his “I told you so” face as the voice begins again.

“I…like you…Gabriel,” it says, in a mocking, sing-song purr. “You will make…the exchange…yourself.”

“At your service,” Gabe says. “Anything else you’d like me to pick up, since I’ll be coming that way anyway?”

“You will come…alone.”

“Fine. I’ll come alone. Where?”

Gallegos waves his hand to get Gabe’s attention, pointing to his screen and giving a thumbs up. Gabe nods.

“I am no fool,” the voice hisses. “Give me…your word…Gabriel.”

“I give you my word,” Gabe says. He pauses for an oddly long interval before he continues. When he does, his voice has lost a degree of coolness, but it is so slight as to be detectable only by Jack. “I will come alone. But you’ve got to give me a location. That’s how this works.”

The voice gives another of its hollow, nightmarish laughs. “You have…twenty-four hours…to secure the funds. We will speak then…Gabriel.”

The line goes dead.

There is collective exhalation of breath, and Gabe looks up at Gérard. Claudia has her arm around him and he is resting his face in his hands.

“Gallegos, I hope that stupid grin means we got ‘em,” Gabe says.

“We got ‘em, sir,” Gallegos says. “Our baby functioned perfectly.”

“It better have. If I fucking find out that thing puts some kind of hum on the line and they’re on to us, so help me god—”

“I told you it can’t do that, boss,” Gallegos says petulantly, laying a protective hand on the machine. “It’s not even possible.”

“Where are they?”

Gérard, Gabe, and Jack step over to Gallegos’ monitor to view the locator.

“Here, sir,” he says, pointing to a pulsing red dot. “It looks like…”

“Esquirol,” Gérard says. “The old Charenton Lunatic Asylum. It was made into a hospital later, but it was partially destroyed in the Crisis and has been closed down for many years.”

“An abandoned insane asylum, really?” Gabe sighs. “Why do these fucks always have to be dramatic? Alright, go tell Vasquez to get the team geared up.”

“Commander Reyes,” Jack says. “A word?”

“Yes, sir,” Gabe says, looking up from the screen. “Gérard, Claudia, go with Gallegos and Hicks. We’ll be along in a minute.”

Hicks and Gallegos hurry out the door with Claudia and Agent Lacroix. Jack follows Gabe to the counter where the dining facility staff have been setting out the coffee pots and other refreshments for the team each day.

“What the fuck were you doing being a snarky jackass with the abductor like that?” Jack says angrily, as Gabe rifles through a box and pulls out a disposable cup and lid.

“Buying us time to locate them,” Gabe says, pouring himself a generous cup of coffee. “And it worked.”

Jack crosses his arms. “Yeah. It worked. But it was a risky fucking play to make with Mel’s life, Gabe.”

“No, Jack, it wasn’t,” Gabe says flatly. “I read my man right and I kept him talking. I do know what the fuck I’m doing.”

Jack’s eyes spark. “It was still a shitty stunt to pull with Gérard sitting here in the room. Don’t do anything like that again.”

“Ok, Jack,” Gabe smirks. “If Mel is abducted again, I won’t joke around with the kidnappers.”

Jack sighs. “You are such a fucking prick sometimes.”

“That’s why you like me.” Gabe leans on the counter and sips his coffee. “What the fuck do they want 36 million for? That’s a weirdly specific sum, huh?”

“Yeah. I wonder what they’re up to. These types usually deal in round numbers.”

“Well, I guess it won’t matter. They’re not getting a penny.”

“Nope.”

“And it’s definitely a trap, right?”

“Yep.”

Gabe grins. “Alright. Let’s go.”

“Hey, one thing,” Jack says. “Why’d you get edgy when the bot asked you to give your word you’d come alone? You know we’re not sending you in there at all.”

“I don’t like having my intelligence insulted. If they were gonna set a trap for me, the smart thing would have been _not_ to go around broadcasting it by asking to deal with me by name, and then telling me to come personally, and come alone, oh and by the way please bring your own bodybag, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“They’ll be the only ones needing bodybags,” Jack says fiercely.

“Jack. Alive.”

“What?”

“Take at least one of them alive.”

“Who’s insulting whose intelligence now, Gabe?” Jack says irritably. “I know what the fuck I’m doing, too.”

“I know, baby, but…I couldn’t resist,” Gabe grins. “You’re just so pretty when you’re mad.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jack says, with an exasperated huff. He turns to go, but Gabe grabs his wrist and drags him into his arms. “What are you doing? Fuck off!”

“Give me a kiss, cariño,” Gabe purrs, pressing his forehead against Jack’s. “For luck.”

Jack’s annoyed expression dissolves and he smiles. “Ok, fine. One.”

 

 

The Charenton Asylum, whose walls long ago bore witness to the death of the Marquis de Sade, lies to the north of the banks of the Marne River, just at the lower edge of the Bois de Vincennes. It was permanently closed after the Crisis, but its structures and grounds have been preserved, as it is considered a heritage landmark of France. When one recalls the renown of the old Abbé de Coulmier for his humane treatment of his patients back in that age of inhumanity, one cannot help but feel he would shed a tear for the specific use to which his hospital is now being put.

Deep within one of its long-deserted wards, two black-cloaked and hooded figures stand in a darkened room. Before them in this stone-walled relic of a bygone age, sits an incongruously modern hospital bed. It does not so much sit as float, aided by the glowing-blue hover pad on its underside. It is surrounded by monitors, various electronic medical devices, and some frightening-looking surgical instruments. On the edge of the bed sits a pale and beautiful young woman. A dark-haired, hazel-eyed girl of perhaps twenty-five, with the slender and graceful form of a dancer. She is barefoot and clothed in nothing but her lilac colored brassiere and panties.

Perhaps the most remarkable thing about the young woman, aside from her exquisite beauty, is her utter indifference to what is passing around her. One might even call it unresponsiveness. She sits perfectly still, staring past the figures into the middle-distance, not even moving to blink her large, lovely eyes. The two cloaked figures, indeed, appear to be discussing her as if she is not present.

“She is perfect,” one says. “You worry excessively.”

“Perhaps,” the second says. “But Gabriel Reyes is not so much a fool as you seem to think him.”

The one who had spoken first begins to reply, but the second holds up a gloved hand to silence him. They raise their heads and stand tensed, like wolves scenting for an intruder.

“Not so much a fool, indeed,” the second says, with a keen, almost predatory note in its smooth, sonorous voice. “Alert the men and make yourself scarce.”

The first speaker glides rapidly from the room. The second steps close to the girl.

“She is not perfect,” it says softly, reaching out to touch her face. “But she will be.”

The girl continues to stare straight ahead, rigidly still and delicate, like a frozen flower. The cloaked figure leans down, its hood falling partially over her face, as it murmurs something into her ear. All at once the flower melts. The girl crumples down onto the bed, weeping piteously. The cloaked figure reaches toward her. She shrinks trembling from the touch, shielding her face with her arms as if from a blow. The figure lingers a fraction of a second, then it turns away and slams the door shut with an echoing bang.

 

 

It begins as a whispering hum, like the central air conditioning kicking on in a big office building. Unless he’s concentrating, he won’t even consciously recognize it until it’s within a fairly short radius. That’s how he hears Omnics. The basic drones that perform mundane tasks, that is. These other bots, the ones with the “awakened” consciousness AIs, they sound different. Sharper. Less a part of the background noise. As the strike team’s vehicles speed through the Paris night, he’s listening for one of these.

“I hear it,” Gabe says. “Stop here.”

Agent Vasquez signals the other vehicles and the convoy rolls to a stop along the dark, quiet street in the Cimetière de Saint-Maurice, about four-hundred meters east of the Charenton Asylum complex. The soldiers and Ops agents file rapidly out of the unmarked black vehicles and perform final weapon and gear check as the Commanders review their plan of assault. Claudia sits with Gérard in the second seat of the middle vehicle, behind the Intel men. Hicks is testing the team’s comm link and Gallegos is tapping the screen of a tablet to rotate a 3-D grid model of the structure, which will be projected to the point-man’s tactical lens, providing an overlay in real-time, in case the enemy drops smoke cover. Commander Morrison steps out of the first vehicle, followed by Commander Reyes.

“I’m taking point,” Jack says, fixing the earpiece over his left ear and lowering the red lens over his eye. “Reyes is on command and control. He’ll be guiding us from here. Hicks, keep that comm active no matter what. Vasquez, Song, you’re on rearguard. The rest of you keep it low and tight. Don’t break until we clear the main entry. Swan is the objective, here, so fucking pay attention. Anyone with eyes on her is to alert the team and maintain her in a covered position until we can clear her safely. Any questions?”

The soldiers shake their heads and form up, awaiting Jack’s orders.

“Gabe, god damn it,” he says. “Stop spinning that thing. I’m gonna puke.”

An answering snicker comes from middle seat of the vehicle.

“Sorry sir,” Gallegos says, snatching the tablet back from Gabe. “I thought the boss could be trusted with the military equipment.”

“You should know better than that by now,” Jack says, eyeing Gabe through the open door. He moves to his place at the head of the small formation. “Gérard, we’re going to get her out safe and sound, I promise.”

Agent Lacroix nods and gives a pallid smile.

“Alright team, goggles down, weapons up. Let’s move,” Jack says (it should be noted that he is not wearing night vision goggles himself, as they would be absurdly redundant with his enhanced vision).

The strike team jog through the cemetery, scan the street, and slip quickly across. They pause at the fence. Song and Vasquez come up and sever the steel links, and hold the fence open for the team to pass through. They move quickly and quietly toward their entry position. The courtyard is silent and deserted. There are so signs of movement or recent occupation, till they reach the large double doors leading into the main gallery. Here, they find that the chain has been cut away and lies beneath the bushes a few feet to the left of walkway.

“Ok, guys,” Gabe’s tinny voice says in Jack’s earpiece. “Once you breach the main hall, you’re going to hang a right. The bot is at the far end of the West Ward on the north side, right before the collapsed part of the structure. Watch the doors on both sides and keep an eye to your rear.”

The heavy doors are secured with a deadbolt from the inside. Song’s laser cutter makes quick work of this. Jack holds up his hand and they crouch listening for a moment. Then he gives the signal. Vasquez and Song push the doors open and the team breaches the dark, cavernous gallery. Jack’s eyes instantly track the jumble of bootprints in the thin, grey dust covering the floor. There are many of them, overlapping and pressing together until they reach the center of the gallery, where the majority turn to the left. Only one set of large, heavy prints leads to the right. He follows them with his eyes. They turn down the hallway toward the West Ward.

“God damn it,” Gabe’s voice comes in again. “The bot’s on the move. Heading out to the southwest. Someone break off and pursue.”

“Negative,” Jack says. “Do not pursue. Swan is the target.”

“The bot’s going to get away,” Gabe objects. “We can’t just let it—”

“Can it, Reyes,” Jack cuts in coolly. “Team, hold positions.” 

“Jack, for fuck’s—”

Jack taps his earpiece to mute Gabe’s channel. The team move in to take clearing positions, letting the heavy doors swing slowly shut behind them. The moment the doors close, they hear a couple of metallic plinks and the telltale hiss, as tear-gas canisters are flung into the gallery from the East Ward, followed immediately by the tromp of many booted feet. The team pulls on their respirators. Jack does not. Wearing a respirator would be a pointless encumbrance for him.

They take up defensive positions as gunfire bursts upon them like a thunderstorm from hell. Muzzles flash through the haze of tear gas as bullets whizz around Jack’s head, blasting fragments out of the wood paneling on the wall behind him. He pops up and returns fire. Two shots. Two mercs hit the ground, missing significant portions of their skulls. One of their automatic weapons discharges a wild fusillade as the man holding it goes down.

Jack reflexively places his body between the spray of bullets and Private Cruz. One grazes his right arm and the other explodes into the meat of his shoulder, spraying a fine mist of blood into the air. The mercs fire another volley. It comes with hand grenades. Jack picks one up and lobs it back. Then he steps over and sends the other one after it. Casually. Easily. Like this is a game of catch in the park. Because to Jack, it is. The game of violence. Of killing men. It’s far too easy. The grenades are returned to their owners so quickly, the mercs don’t have time to react. They hardly have time to scream before their bodies are torn abruptly apart. Jack signals the team to hold the lobby as more mercs come thundering in, guns blazing.

He springs up and slips down the hall into the West Ward, deftly avoiding the bullets as he goes. He snaps the eyepiece up into its inactive position on the side of his head. He doesn’t need it interfering with his senses. He lets his mind go and his body does what it does. He is acting on pure instinct now. Muscle memory. Slinking down the corridor like a panther stalking prey. He has her scent.

_She’s close. This room. She’s through this door. And something else. Not someone. Something is with her. Something dangerous._

His body screams at him.

_Run. Get out. Save yourself._

His mind takes control again. You’re slipping. Ignore it. Get back to work. He crouches and places his hand on the door.

_It’s here. In this room._

He raises his weapon and pushes the door open. This room is dark. Too dark. His enhanced eyes aren’t able to cut through the shadows. They’re black and heavy, almost like a physical presence. His body wrestles with his mind for control as he steps inside.

_Last chance. Run._

His skin crawls like there are steel insects moving beneath it. But she’s right there. Lying curled up in a hospital bed, surrounded by medical equipment and monitors. The screens are blank, but there is enough light emanating from the displays to cast a pale glow over her petite, white body. Terror of the darkness grips him in its icy claws. Raw, animal terror, like a child feels after a nightmare, when it runs blindly to mother’s room through the deep black shadows in the hallway, too terrified to breathe.

_You are going to die._

Then through the chaos and the unreasoning horror, his mind speaks clearly. Death comes for all of us, sooner or later. Do your duty, Commander.

He drops his rifle to his side, letting it swing loose on its strap, and rushes madly, desperately, to her side. Not pausing to think or daring to look about him, he lifts her tiny, weightless body in his arms and runs. From…what? The dark? As he retreats down the hall, his mind clears and his heartbeat stabilizes. But the echo of the horror doesn’t leave him. It’s too familiar. He has felt it before. He will feel it again.

In the main gallery, his men have subdued the remaining mercs. Two are alive and in restraints. Sixteen are dead. Vasquez and Hudson have sustained minor bullet wounds. Tzaadi has a laceration above his eye from a flying fragment of masonry. They are otherwise unharmed. They have two captives, and they have the Swan. One of the men runs over and wraps his jacket around her. Jack tells them to start cleanup and then carries her as gently and swiftly as he can to the waiting vehicles.

Claudia is standing outside the second vehicle with Gérard, who rushes forward, trembling and nearly as pale as Amélie.

“Jack, how is she? Is she…is she—”

“Unconscious,” Jack says. “Otherwise, I don’t know. I can’t see any injuries. Oberkampf?”

“Right here, sir,” Claudia says. She jumps into the SUV, where she has her med bag open on the floor of the “Lay her down on the seat. Careful. Keep her head still.”

Gérard and Jack watch anxiously as Claudia checks her pupils with her little pen light, then scans her head-to-toe with a rectangular device and taps some strokes on the screen.

“Good,” she says. “Excellent. No serious injuries, no sign of head trauma. Slight dehydration and malnutrition, so it looks like they’ve been feeding her a little, at least.” She drops a glowing, golden-yellow bio-field and then climbs out of the vehicle. “Agent Lacroix, you should talk to her. See if she’ll respond to you. I think her unconsciousness is mostly fatigue and mental distress.”

Gérard thanks Claudia and climbs into the vehicle. She and Jack step away respectfully as he strokes his young wife’s face and speaks softly to her in French.

“Thanks, Oberkampf,” Jack says. “We’ve got a couple more injured coming out, so you’ll have more than enough work to do in a minute.”

“What about you, sir?” she says, stepping close and eyeing the bloody hole in the shoulder of his shirt. “Yeah, you’ve been shot.” She points at the open back door other SUV. “Go. Sit.”

Jack grins impishly and obeys, sitting on the sideboard so she can examine him. She prods his shoulder gently, then begins to rip the hole further open.

“Hey!” he protests. “I like this shirt!”

“Suck it up,” she says, tearing it wider. “If you love your clothes so much, don’t get shot in them—uh…sir.”

She probes his shoulder with a finger till he yelps and jerks away.

“That’s what I thought mister super-soldier,” she says. “Your skin healed over a bullet. Now it’s gotta come out.”

“Boo,” Jack pouts. “You doctors sure are mean.”

“Yeah we are,” she grins, pulling a scalpel and extractor from her bag. “That’s our secret. We say we want to help people, but we actually just like making you suffer.”

“I think you do,” he laughs.

“Yep, we love it when you idiots shoot each other and we get to pick up the pieces once you’re all done proving how tough you are,” she says. “Now hold still.”

Jack winces and hangs onto the side of the SUV as she makes an incision in his shoulder. He squeezes harder as she jams the other instrument into the wound.

“Ah…god damn it!” he groans. “I thought they stopped using extractors after the Civil War.”

“We had to reintroduce them for augmented soldiers. The enemy started using bullets spiked with uranium and stuff to try and kill you guys more effectively. Those ones have to come out cause they can poison you slowly, so now we have to remove any bullet we can from augmented patients.”

“Fantastic,” Jack says. “Ow! Jesus Christ!”

“Got it!” Claudia chirps, holding up the bloody bullet before Jack’s glowering face. “You’ll be fine, you big baby. I’m gonna drop a bio-field, ok?”

“Hey, speaking of big babies, where’s Gabe?” Jack says, looking around.

“Commander Reyes took off to help with cleanup,” she says. “Like, right before you showed up. I guess he heard you coming?”

“Probably.” Jack arches his spine and shudders as the warm, tingling glow of the bio-field spreads through his stiff body. “Fuck, that feels good. I must really be getting old.”

“Yeah, Commander,” Claudia laughs. “I was just gonna ask if you wanted to watch Matlock or something while we wait.”

“How do you even know about Matlock, young lady? That was old when I was your age.”

“I used to watch it with my grandma, of course.”

Just then Gérard calls out from the other vehicle and Claudia hurries over to help. Jack gets up to follow and sees that the three injured team members are approaching.

“Gallegos, Hicks, go and see if they need any more help in there,” he says to the intel men, who hop down and jog off toward the complex. He turns to the approaching agents. “Hey, Hudson, where is Commander Reyes?”

“Haven’t seen him, sir,” Hudson calls back.

“He didn’t go in to help with cleanup?”

“Possible, sir,” Hudson says, leaning on the SUV to ease his injured leg. “We may have missed him on the way over.”

“You try his channel, sir?” Vasquez offers.

“No, I didn’t,” Jack says distractedly. “You guys get the doc to look at you. And thank you for your work in there. You did a good job.”

He steps away from the vehicles and tries Gabe’s channel unsuccessfully a few times, then gets his phone out, cursing under his breath. No answer. That stubborn motherfucker. He types a text.

OCM-001: I fucking told you not to go after the fucking bot, Gabe.

As he is doing this, Claudia approaches to inform him that Madame Lacroix is awake.

“Thanks Oberkampf,” Jack says. “How is she?”

“She’s badly shaken up but she’s lucid. She’s hazy on the details of the past week, but I’d advise against pushing her right now. Cause, you know. Trauma.”

“Good. Alright, you and Gérard get her and the other injured back to HQ. We’ll be along after we clean things up here.”

“Yes, sir,” Claudia says.

Jack’s irritation with Gabe’s absence is quickly shifting into actual anxiety for his safety, which makes him angrier. He types another text as he walks briskly back to the asylum grounds.

OCM-001: If you’re not back here by the time we’re done with cleanup, you can walk back to fucking HQ on your own.

To his instant relief and further annoyance, he gets a message back right away.

BWR-002: Lost the bot. I’m ok but I got pretty far. Go ahead and take off without me. I’ll meet you back at HQ.

Jack’s face flushes with anger. _Go ahead and take off without me_??? Just like that? So fucking casual about it, like he hasn’t disregarded a direct order and gone AWOL during a fucking mission. He stuffs his phone back in his pocket without replying.

In the main gallery, the men have bagged the dead mercs and lined them up for collection by the Overwatch Medical Examiner’s office. Gallegos and Hicks are doing a walkover, picking up anything that might constitute evidence of their presence. Cruz and Malik are escorting the detained mercs out to the waiting vehicles. Song is in the room where Jack found Amélie, inspecting the medical equipment and tagging it for transport.

Jack hesitates before the open door, then takes a breath and goes in. Agent Song has an illumination pod floating in the air above his head. It’s dark at the far end of the room where the pod’s light doesn’t quite reach, but it’s usual, night-time dark. Not the heavy blackness from before. The room feels…ordinary. Jack is certain now, that his prior agitation had been his mind slipping into one of his episodes. This is not comforting. If he can’t trust himself to keep it together on a simple hostage extraction…he doesn’t want to think about what that implies. He makes some perfunctory chat with Song and escapes back into the main gallery.

What the fucking fuck does Gabe think he’s doing? Not only did he disobey Jack’s orders in front of the men, but he left him alone to deal with this himself. He looks at his phone again, then helps the men carry the gear back to the vehicles and pack up. Commander Reyes? Who the fuck knows. He can find his own ride back to HQ.

 

The hover engines on the black SUVs illuminate, and they glide smoothly down the broad, tree-lined avenue, bearing the Blackwatch team and its two captives away into the glittering lights of the city. Just as they disappear from view, there is a flicker of movement atop the roof of the old asylum. The dark silhouette of a man appears at the side of the three-story building and drops silently to the ground. It darts across the courtyard, taking care to stay in the deep shadows, and slips into the old stone chapel through a door that, until very recently, had been boarded shut.

Once inside the chapel, the man slows his pace. The scrape of his boots echoes in tomblike emptiness of the place, as he strides evenly into the center of the nave. He leans against a broad, rectangular pillar. There is a spark, followed by a small, bright-yellow flame, then the reddish glow of an ember. He exhales a curling cloud of blue-white smoke into the cold, stale air. Several minutes pass. Then the man looks up, as if he has heard something. A black-cloaked and hooded figure is emerging from behind the altar. It moves slowly and heavily, but in utter silence, without a hint of a footstep or rustle of garment. It halts in the transept, ten paces or so from the man and stands waiting, head slightly bowed, face obscured entirely in shadow.

“I’m alone,” the man says. “I’ve kept my word.”

“Hello…Gabriel,” the cloaked figure replies, in a hollow, metallic rasp. “Your men…have killed many…of mine.”

“Because you let them,” Gabe says.

“Because…I let them,” it repeats, dipping its head lower in token of assent.

“You’ve gone to a lot of fucking trouble to get my attention.” Gabe flicks his cigarette away and takes a step forward, spreading his arms. “So, you gonna kill me now, or what?”

The cloaked figure answers with a low, grinding rumble. Like an ironic laugh. “I would like…to make you an offer…Gabriel.”

Gabe lowers his arms and crosses them on his chest. “Well? I’m listening.”

 

 

 

As the days pass by, then weeks, Jesse finds himself settling into an easy domestic routine with his two lovers. He works odd hours, but they don’t mind, since Ben is no longer working and Luisa’s schedule is even more sporadic and irregular than Jesse’s. Luisa is the real boss in their little trio, but she and Ben like to pretend Jesse is, asking him for permission to buy sweets and trinkets at shops, and petting him and fawning over him till his head spins. Ben is teaching him literature and history, and Luisa is teaching him to speak French.

They walk in the city, visit cafes and shops, take photos by Lake Geneva, cook meals, have sex, sleep, all together. Jesse likes going out with them almost as much as staying in. He can’t help but enjoy the looks of envy on other young men’s faces when the beautiful girl from the huge, animated perfume billboards throws her arms around his neck and kisses him like he’s the only man in the world. And it’s even more amusing to then see their looks of astonishment as he kisses gorgeous, blonde Ben on the lips and the three stroll off holding hands.

Jesse is happy enough with this arrangement. It’s warm and convivial and simple. Comfortable. He’s being fed very well and getting his cock sucked an average of 1.5 times a day by two of the best looking people in Switzerland, so that’s nice. At times, however, he finds himself overcome by an uneasy feeling, as if he’s being slowly heated like a frog in a pot, who doesn’t notice the water temperature changing till it’s been boiled alive. But then Ben will smile that sunshine smile, or Luisa will kiss his cheek and laugh her sweet, tinkling laugh and it doesn’t seem so bad. Besides, he’s making them happy. Especially Ben.

Dr. Ziegler has fixed Ben’s teeth up and his bruises have faded, and Jesse thinks his face is handsomer now than it was before the attack. He looks a litter older. More sturdy. More like Jack. Jesse’s sorrow over his romantic disappointment with his father’s husband has since passed under the bridge, but his physical attraction to him hasn’t magically disappeared. His first awareness of any kind of sexual desire had been for the handsome, heroic Overwatch commander in the news reports. He’d spent his entire adult life in love with the idea of the man, and his golden sun had taken a Japanese nobleman of nearly miraculous beauty to eclipse.

Hanzo. The cold and distant star in his black, empty sky. That grief has not dissipated, nor even diminished. It is an open, aching wound in his heart and the agony of it torments him in every solitary moment. Jesse swallows the stab of pain that threatens to split his chest and returns his attention to his reading.

“Then out spake—what’s that?” he asks, pointing to the unfamiliar word in the text before him. “What the fuck is ‘spake’?”

“It’s the same as spoke,” Ben says. “It’s an archaic past-tense form we don’t use anymore.”

“Oh,” Jesse says. He eyes the word suspiciously, then continues. “Then…out spake brave Horatius, the captain of the gate. To every man upon this earth, death cometh soon or late. And how can man die better, than facing fearful odds, for the ashes of his fathers and the temples of his gods.”

He pauses, gazing at the text for a moment, then he looks up at Ben.

“I like this Horatius fella,” he says. “He got it all figured out.”

Ben smiles. “Why do you say that?”

“That Lars Porsena fella’s army was gonna rip shit up, right? So Horatius says, well, I reckon someone’s gotta stand up to ‘em, so I’m locked and loaded. It’s like…everyone’s gotta die anyhow, so why go out like a chicken-shit, when you can die fightin’ and maybe take a few of ‘em with you.” Jesse leans back in his chair. “Talk about a badass motherfucker.”

“Jesse, maybe you should try teaching literature,” Ben laughs. “It’s a lot more fun the way you explain it.”

At that moment, Luisa comes in the door carrying a brown paper bag from the market on the corner. Jesse and Ben greet her as she sets it down on the counter.

“Hello, sexy boys,” she says. She kisses Ben on the cheek and Jesse on the lips. “Are you learning interesting things, Jesse?”

“I’m learnin’ about the Lays of Ancient Rome, which ain’t as dirty as it sounds, but it’s still pretty good.” He points to the groceries. “What’s all that?”

“Those are things for supper,” she says, kicking off her shoes. “You two will have to cook for yourselves tonight. I have a date.”

“Good lord, Lulu,” Ben smirks. “How many dicks do you need?”

She flashes an insouciant little smile over her shoulder. “Mother always said that when you like something, it never hurts to keep a spare.”

“She ain’t wrong,” Jesse laughs, getting up to help her put the groceries away. “He better mind his manners though, or I’ll come mind ‘em for him.”

“Oh, you are very chivalrous, mon loup,” she says, poking him teasingly. “But he is a perfect gentleman. He is very big and strong, anyway. I do not know if you could mind him very much.”

“Oh yeah?” Jesse says, puffing out his chest. “He’d have to be pretty big and strong to take me.”

With some more good-natured teasing, Luisa runs off to her room to get ready for her date. They tell her she looks beautiful in her little white sundress as she heads out the door. The next night, she has another date with the same man. Then another a few days after that, and so on. And then the three of them become two again. They’re all still friends and they still have fun together, but she won’t come to bed anymore. Her new boyfriend isn’t like that, and so she can’t be. It’s no big deal. But Jesse starts to feel that bad feeling again. Like he’s doing something selfish. Not thinking of someone else. He and Ben get along perfectly, enjoy being in each other’s company, and have spectacular sex (with or without Luisa), but there’s something missing. And he knows Ben feels it, too.

One night, after a day spent trying to get Jesse accustomed to the bizarrely archaic spelling and grammar of Paradise Lost, they are lying in Ben’s bed together. Luisa is out with her new boyfriend. The place is cool and quiet and a gentle breeze flows in through the open windows, but Jesse can’t sleep. He tosses and turns and finally, he gets up and goes to smoke a cigarette on the balcony (naked, of course, as he is unburdened by such mundane concerns as physical modesty). After a moment, Ben pads out barefoot in his pajama pants to join him.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Jesse says, kissing his forehead. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Ben leans his head on Jesse’s shoulder. “You didn’t. I can’t sleep either.”

Jesse hands Ben the cigarette he just lit and lights a new one. Ben takes a long, slow draw on it and leans heavily on the railing.

“What is it, darlin’?” 

“Jesse, were you with someone in Japan?” Ben asks. Not angrily or accusingly, but plainly. In that mild, matter-of-fact way he has of speaking.

Jesse looks away and blows a plume of smoke into the breeze. “I was, yeah.”

“Who?”

“A boy. A Japanese boy.”

“Oh. Why didn’t you ever tell me about him?”

Jesse shrugs. “Didn’t make much difference. Things was done between him and me, ‘fore I come back.”

“What was he like?”

“He was eighteen. Beautiful. Black eyes and long black hair. Kinda…distant and hard to read, though. Never let you know what he was really thinkin’ and all that.”

“Was he…a professional?”

“Naw,” Jesse says, with a mirthless little chuckle. “He, uh—he never been with anyone but me.”

Jesse is not sure why saying this was a mistake, but he sees right away that apparently it had been.

“An eighteen-year-old Japanese virgin,” Ben says, visibly recoiling. “Gross, Jesse. So you managed to live up to the stereotype of the entitled white male sex-tourist looking for a submissive doll.”

This characterization applied to his noble and powerful beloved is so absurd as to incline Jesse to laugh outright. He wisely strangles this urge and remains expressionless.

“I reckon I can see how it looks that way,” he says guardedly. “But it wadn’t. He was…involved in the case we was workin’ on.”

“How?”

“He was an assassin the Yakuza sent to protect me.”

This blindsides Ben entirely. He blinks. “An…an assassin?”

“Yeah.”

“Like, a person who kills people for money?”

“Well, not for money so much. More like…for the clan’s honor and whatnot.”

“Jesus. I thought that was just movie stuff. They do that in real life?”

“Yep.”

“So…this eighteen-year-old virgin assassin. Were you—did you…love him?”

“Yep.”

“I see,” Ben says. He lowers his big blue eyes. “I’m sorry, Jesse. That must have been really hard for you. I didn’t mean to push you.”

“You ain’t been pushin’, Ben,” Jesse says, exhaling another drag of his cigarette. “You been real kind to me, even though I ain’t deserved it.”

“No, Jesse, it’s ok,” Ben says gently. “I understand why you didn’t bring it up before. But I’m your friend. I’m here for you if you want to talk about it.”

“He…he hurt me real bad, Ben,” Jesse says. His voice trembles as all the grief he’s kept carefully concealed comes rushing unbidden to the surface. Tears burn in his eyes, threatening to spill over. “It feels like—I dunno—like he stuck a knife right down in my chest and dug my heart out, and now I got nothin’ there but a big bleedin’ hole.”

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry,” Ben says. He wraps his arms comfortingly around his distraught young lover. “I’m so sorry.”

“He said he loved me, too,” Jesse says, dropping his head onto Ben’s shoulder. His tears fall in hot little splashes on Ben’s bare skin. “Then he—he just sent me away like I was nothin’ to him.”

The weight of Jesse’s tall, muscular body knocks Ben off balance, but he manages to lead him into the living room and get him to sit down on the sofa. He sits beside him and holds him, and lets him cry himself out. After a while, Jesse sits up and rests his elbows on his knees, gazing down at the floor.

“He don’t want me, so I guess that’s that,” he says, in a dull, defeated tone. “But I’ll never love no one but him. Not as long as I live.”

Ben reaches out and lays a hand on his arm. “Jesse, I know it feels that way now, but…your whole life is a long time. Getting your heart broken sucks and it hurts badly, but it’s not the end of the world.”

“It ain’t the end of the world, no. But I reckon if my whole life’s a long time, it’s gonna get real lonely.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way, though.”

“It does. I swore I’d never love anyone but him so long as I live. However long that is makes no nevermind. I gave my word. That’s all there is to it.”

Ben draws away. “This…hurts me so much, Jesse.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize. I mean it hurts me to see you hurting this way, on a basic human level. You’re talking about denying yourself love forever because of a stupid promise you made at twenty years old. I know…exactly how that feels.”

Jesse looks up into Ben’s soft, lovely blue eyes. “You do?”

“I do,” Ben says. He pulls his knees up and wraps his arms around them. “I was—I _am_ —in love with someone who didn’t think I was worth holding onto.”

“Oh, no, darlin’, that can’t be true,” Jesse says, aghast at the idea. “Who wouldn’t want to hang onto you?”

Ben smiles bitterly.

“He was my first love. My first…anything. I still love him. But he decided that his job was more important than me. Back in Canada, I was only modeling to make a little money while I looked for a real job. But then I got the offer from the agency here in Geneva. It was the opportunity of a lifetime. It’s a top-five agency and just getting a foot in the door has made entire careers. I was really excited to tell him about it, especially because we’d always talked about going to live in Europe together. So I told him and he was over the moon. I accepted the contract and we had this huge party and he…he asked me to marry him. I said yes, of course, and we started looking for apartments in Geneva.

I found this one and I put a deposit on it right away. These places don’t come up very often. But when I told him I’d found us a place, he was kind of like…cold about it. I said I thought he’d be more excited. He said something about rent controls and finding roommates and we wound up having a really horrible fight. He went to spend the night at his sister’s. When he came back, we talked about it more reasonably, but then he started giving me all this bullshit about his five year plan and how he couldn’t fuck up his whole career to go follow this crazy whim with me. Mind you, his career is being an assistant curator at an art gallery in Vancouver, B.C.

We talked about it many more times, but the end result was always the same. I wasn’t worth leaving his life for. We didn’t break up, but things weren’t the same. When he drove me to the airport, we promised we’d never stop loving each other. I never did. It’s so…stupid, but even now I keep hoping he’ll come around. Like, he’ll show up one day and make this grand romantic gesture. But it’s been two years and he hasn’t, so…I guess it’s not coming.”

“Ben that’s real awful,” Jesse says, wrapping Ben up in his long, muscular arms. “That fella sounds like a fuckin’ world class fool, if you ask me.”

“Well, so does your eighteen-year-old assassin,” Ben says. “I guess we’re just lucky, huh?”

“Yeah, I reckon so,” Jesse laughs. “Even Lu run off and got a boyfriend now.”

“Well, we’ll see how long that lasts. She doesn’t tend to keep them around for too long, so don’t give up hope for more sexy boy-girl-boy time in the future.”

“Say, Ben, if you got that good job with the agency, how’d you wind up workin’ for Karl? If you don’t mind me askin.”

“My contract at the agency was never full time. It’s more like…a retainer. They have the right to call me up for jobs any time and I can’t take another contract while mine is active, but I’m not guaranteed any specific amount of work per year. My work was slow for a while and Lulu wasn’t as huge as she is now, so we were struggling. A couple other models I knew who were also cash-starved did some cam porn together, so I figured it couldn’t be that much different. It’s still sex with strangers for money. I worked at a place called the Tiger Club for about a year. The money was good, but my boss was a total asshole. And…ironically, I didn’t ever feel totally safe there. Johann, you know him from the Rawhide, had also worked at the Tiger with me. He started there and he told me about how clean and fun it was and how nice his boss was, so I came and met Karl and he hired me on the spot. I don’t really miss the job, but I do kind of miss Karl. He was really good to me.”

“Karl’s a good one,” Jesse says. “I gotta go over and say howdy to him sometime soon.”

“You should. And um…thank him for me, would you? For not listening to me about telling you. I was being an idiot.”

“I will.” Jesse pauses, as if debating whether to say something. “Ben, listen…me and my dad’s takin’ this kinda…family trip in June. I’d like it if you’d come with us.”

Ben laughs. “Wow. That’s…not what I expected to hear after I confessed to you that I’m still in love with my ex-fiancée.”

“Yeah, sorry I brung it up outta nowheres like that. You can think about it and let me know, alright?”

“No, I’d like to go with you. I guess…I’m a little nervous, though. I’ve only met your dad once. Are you sure I’ll be welcome?”

“Aw, sweetheart, don’t you worry about that,” Jesse says, kissing Ben’s pretty lips. “They’re gonna love you.”

“Thanks, Jesse,” Ben smiles. “Wait, did you say they?”

 

 


	93. Non, je ne regrette rien.

It’s been hours and Commander Reyes has not returned. Madame Lacroix is in the med bay for observation, hooked up to a glucose IV, but stable and in the watchful care of her husband. The ME’s office have been dispatched to collect the dead mercs. The two survivors are being interrogated by the Blackwatch agents. Commander Morrison has made it clear he wants no part of it. Meaning he does not want to know what method is used to extract information from the hostiles.

The implication makes Claudia shiver as she gazes surreptitiously at the blonde, fresh-faced, preternaturally self-possessed man who is her organization’s leader. He looks so young and almost…innocent. Claudia knows better, of course, but it hadn’t fully occurred to her until tonight how very much must actually lie hidden behind those blue eyes.

She looks quickly back down at her phone as he happens to turn his head and catch her staring. Commander Reyes would have grinned and made a snarky comment. Commander Morrison does not. He doesn’t acknowledge in any way that he noticed. Of course he doesn’t. He must catch people looking at him a lot. He’s probably completely numb to being watched by now. You’d have to be, to live the way he does. With the whole world’s eyes on you every moment of every day.

His ice-blue laser-sights snap to the Intel Center door a second before it opens and Commander Reyes saunters in like he hasn’t got a care in the world. Claudia instinctively sits up and pushes her back against the wall. Her parents had enough teeth-rattling screaming matches to give her a sixth sense for when a storm is about to burst. Her stomach does a flip and she has to fight back a reflexive urge to cover her ears as Morrison’s mouth opens. The voice that comes out, however, is gravelly and low, but perfectly controlled. No rage, not even annoyance. Somehow this makes Claudia more anxious.

“Commander Reyes,” he says. “Report.”

Her eyes dart to Commander Reyes.

“Hey, Jack,” he says, with a sheepish grimace. “Sorry about—”

“I’m not interested in your apology, Commander Reyes,” Commander Morrison says coolly. “Your report will be sufficient.”

The words hit Commander Reyes like a slap. Claudia sees it. He doesn’t see her see it. She’s had too much practice becoming invisible when the grown-ups are fighting.

“Sir,” Reyes says, recovering. “I pursued the hostile on foot, three klicks southwest of the objective to a densely populated civilian shopping center, where I lost eyes on the target in the crowd and abandoned pursuit.”

“And you pursued the hostile in direct contravention of an order, is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well,” Morrison says calmly. “Commander Reyes, you are suspended without pay for fourteen days, pending my review of your conduct. Understood?”

Reyes’ shoulders tense. He stands there for a moment, seething.

“Understood, sir,” he growls through his teeth.

“Good,” Morrison says, turning away. “That’s all. You’re dismissed.”

“Dismissed. I’m dismissed,” Reyes repeats, his big brown eyes flashing fiercely. “What the fuck, Jack? You didn’t even ask me what I—”

“Twenty-one days!” Morrison snarls, whipping back around, eyes sparking with blue fire. “You want to go for the whole month, Commander?”

“No,” Reyes says. He swallows hard. “No, sir.”

“Wise choice,” Morrison fires back. “Now get out of my sight.”

As the door bangs shut behind Commander Reyes, Commander Morrison leans over and rests his hands on the table. His head and shoulders sag as if the interchange has drained all of his energy. Claudia holds her breath, trying not to move or do anything to intrude herself into this private moment.

“Agent Oberkampf,” he says, without turning around. His voice is gentler now. Hoarse and weary. “Would you go and…check on Madame Lacroix for me? Thanks.”

“Yes, sir,” Claudia almost whispers.

She hops up and hastily retreats out the door. Her eyes sting with sudden emotion as she hurries down the deserted hallway. These men are married. To each other. How fucked up are things between them to have gotten this way? She knows how fucked up, actually. But it’s not the same, hearing the boss’s account of it and seeing it happen in real time. Like Commander Morrison had just flipped a switch and was suddenly a different person.

She skips the elevator that would take her up to the medbay and heads straight for the back stairs. Commander Morrison hadn’t really been asking her to check on Madame Lacroix, anyway. If Commander Reyes wants to talk, he’ll be in the firing range. If not, she won’t find him at all. She pauses at the first floor door, as a thought occurs to her. She heads over the dining facility, orders two cups of coffee, then makes her way down to the gun range, armed with the steaming beverages.

A heavy whiff of cigarette smoke greets her as soon as she pushes the heavy, soundproof door open. No one else in the world would dare to smoke in here. He’s here, which means he wants to talk. But he’ll probably pretend he doesn’t and act like an asshole about it first. She sees the toe of a black boot sticking out from the wall around the corner and approaches cautiously, clearing her throat.

“What do you want, Claudia,” he says, opening one eye to squint up at her.

His knees are drawn up and he’s resting his crossed arms on them, with head his lying back against the wall. His black knit cap is on the floor beside him.

“Hey, boss. I brought you a cup of coffee.”

She has rarely seen him without his cover. His hair is shaved close on the sides, but it’s just a little longer on top. It’s almost black and very dense. If it grew out, it’d be wavy, or even curly. She instantly wants to touch it, but restrains this urge. The Commander is not a cat, Claudia, do not pet him. He is _kind_ of a cat though… No. Get it together. Come on. This man is your boss, not your gal pal.

He sighs. “Go ahead.”

“Huh?” Claudia says, with a little start. Oh, no. She hadn’t said any of that out loud, right? “I mean, excuse me, sir?”

“My hair. Go ahead and touch it. You’ve been standing there staring at it for like, ten seconds.”

“What—uh…really?”

“Yeah, sure,” he shrugs. “Give me that coffee first.”

She hands him the cup of coffee, then stands hesitating for a moment, feeling the way she would if she were suddenly invited to pet a tiger. How to approach this dangerous animal? Gingerly, she reaches out a hand and runs her fingertips over the crown of his head. He gives a little shiver and drops his head forward onto his folded arms, clearly signaling that she should continue.

She doesn’t know what else to do, so she stands there stroking her Commander’s thick, silky hair. Jesus, he smells amazing. Is that shampoo, or…? She can see his chest rising and falling slowly as his breathing becomes more relaxed and even. His broad shoulders droop as the taut tension in them begins to ease. She smiles. He’d been asking, not offering. He _is_ like a cat.

“This really calms you down, huh, boss?” She says, working her fingers down the back of his scalp to scratch the buzzed part with her fingernails.

“My sister,” he says. “Isabella, my older sister. She used to do this for me when I was a little kid. I had nightmares and it was the only way to shut me up and get me to go to sleep.”

“She sounds like a really great big sister,” Claudia smiles.

“She was,” Gabe says. “You have any siblings?”

“Two little brothers. Half brothers technically, but you know. Brothers are brothers. My dad and his new wife only lived, like, twenty minutes away in Fairview Park, so I spent a lot of time with them. But, um…that area got hit first. Now it’s just me and my mom.”

Her simple, unassuming way of relating this horrific tragedy kicks Gabe in the gut. He’d had no idea she’d lost family in the Crisis.

He looks up at her and squeezes her hand. “Jesus, Claudia. I’m so sorry.”

“We’ve all lost people we loved, boss,” she says, moving around to sit cross-legged in front of him. “You and me and Jesse and Commander Morrison. Those scars are part of what makes us able to do what we do. We can look so much death and tragedy in the face because we’ve experienced it firsthand. We’ve seen the gate, you know?”

“I think I’d rather not have seen it,” Gabe sighs. “I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, no matter how much stronger it makes us.”

“I don’t know if it necessarily makes a person stronger, boss. It just…removes the veil of illusion that everything is going to be ok. What you do after that…is all up to you.”

“Yeah, I haven’t harbored that delusion since I was twelve years old,” he says bitterly. He looks down and plays with the plastic tab on the mouth of his coffee cup. “Claudia, can I ask you something? What if…what if you knew for sure that everything was _not_ going to be ok?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, say you had some kind of…crystal ball and you could look into the future and see that one day, the world was all going to collapse around you and millions of people were going to suffer and die. And no matter what you did, you wouldn’t be able to stop it.”

She frowns thoughtfully. “Like, what if we’d been able to predict the Crisis?”

“Yeah. What if you had been able to see the Crisis coming, but you couldn’t tell anyone about it. Or if you could, it wouldn’t make a difference anyway, because no one would listen to you. What would you do?”

“I guess…I’d do whatever I had to do to protect the people I love. That’s all anyone could do in that situation.”

Gabe gazes at the floor for a moment, then he nods. “That’s what I’d do, too.”

Claudia watches him curiously as he sips his coffee. “You’re kind of a Cassandra tonight, sir. What brought this on?”

“Hm? Oh, we were…talking about death, and I just…I don’t know. Call it an old man’s regrets.”

“Well, you certainly can’t have regrets about not stopping the Crisis, sir. I mean, you literally did that yourself.”

“I regret not being able to stop it earlier,” he says. “Near the end, every day of that war cost tens of thousands of lives.”

“And every day it _didn’t_ go on after you ended it saved millions of future lives. You’re a hero. Maybe one of the greatest in history.”

“I’m not a hero, Claudia. A lot of innocent people died getting us into those Omnium mainframes.”

“Look, boss, I know you well enough to know that there’s nothing I can do to talk you out of this mood where you need to blame yourself for every death in the war, so yeah. It was all your fault. You happy?”

Gabe laughs. “Yeah. Thanks, Claws.”

“You sure you’re ok, boss?” she says, studying his handsome, scarred face “That thing with you and Commander Morrison was rough. It felt…personal.”

“He’s my husband. When we disagree about work, it can’t _not_ be personal, no matter what we tell ourselves. I’m sorry you had to see it, though. Jack should have waited till we were in private to chew me out, but I think he wanted to make a point.”

“Why’d you go after the bot anyway?”

Gabe shakes his head. “Instinct? I’m still not used to having to follow Jack’s orders against my better judgement. Our time at Overwatch doesn’t represent a very big portion of our lives. Before all this, he wasn’t my boss. We were equals at the CIA and then during the war, I outranked him.”

“Boss…this is my business now, because you’ve kind of made it my business, so…just talk to him. Give him some time to cool down if you need to, but do try. Because he wasn’t just pissed about you disobeying an order. He was upset because you made him worry about you, too. He’s scared shitless to lose you. It’s probably the only thing he’s scared of.”

Gabe can’t help laughing again. “You think you can just read us like open books, huh, young lady?”

“Pretty much,” Claudia grins. “You super-soldiers are still just men. You’re not as complicated as you think.”

Just then, the heavy steel door to the firing range booms open. Claudia gives a start. Gabe does not. They hear footsteps approaching.

“What can I do for you, Commander?” Gabe calls out.

Claudia jumps to her feet, almost kicking over Gabe’s coffee as Commander Morrison rounds the corner. Gabe rescues it and scowls up at her.

“Commander Morrison,” she says awkwardly. “I was just—uh…going. To check on Madame Lacroix. I’ll…excuse me, sirs.”

Jack stifles his inclination to laugh as the young agent hurries away, cursing as some of her coffee splashes out onto her hand in her haste to escape. Then he turns back to Gabe. They stare at each other for a long moment.

“Well?” Gabe says.

Jack crosses his arms. “Well what?”

“You came down here, Jack. I was having a nice chat with my agent and you interrupted us. So, what do you want?”

“I came down here to apologize, Gabe,” Jack says testily. “But if you’re going to be such an insufferable prick about it, then forget it.”

Gabe lifts his large, muscular body body off the floor and stands before Jack, looking menacingly down into his blue eyes from the entire inch in height he stands above him.

Then he flashes a wicked grin. “I knew you’d crack first.”

Jack’s closed fist strikes Gabe’s midsection like a sledgehammer. He whirls around to walk away as Gabe staggers back, clutching his stomach and laughing.

“Wait, baby, wait!” Gabe gasps. “Come back. I was just fucking with you. I’m sorry, too.”

Jack stops and turns back to Gabe, who instantly stops laughing, seeing that there are tears on his face.

“You fucking unbelievable asshole,” he says. “How dare you joke about this? You left me alone on that job, Gabe. I had…I had one of my episodes while I was getting Mel out and you weren’t there to talk to me through it afterward. You left me alone.”

“Oh, Christ, baby,” Gabe breathes, pulling his husband into his arms. “I’m so sorry, Jack. God, I _am_ an asshole.”

Jack raises those big blue eyes to look into Gabe’s brown ones and then their mouths are on each other. Pressed together hungrily, desperately, breathing each other’s breath, trying to swallow each other whole. Jack’s muscles liquefy, losing himself in the kiss, the embrace, the comfort of his husband’s presence. He feels the heat of Gabe’s body almost as a tangible aura, reaching out and wrapping around him, blanketing him in soothing warmth.

“Cariño,” Gabe murmurs, burying his face in Jack’s blonde hair. “My vida, mi sol, mi corazon. I’ll never leave you alone again, I swear. Never.”

“You better not,” Jack sniffles into Gabe’s chest, “Don’t ever fucking do that to me again.”

“Never,” Gabe repeats.

He begins to hum softly as he rocks Jack in his arms

“Gabe, come on,” Jack says, pulling back. “I’m not in the mood.”

Gabe ignores him and hooks an arm about his waist.

“If you want a lover, I’ll do anything you ask me to,” he half sings, half speaks into Jack’s ear as he begins to sway. “And if you want another kind of love, I’ll wear a mask for you.”

“Gabe, do not dance me.”

“If you want a partner, take my hand.” Gabe is actually singing now in a languid, jazzy tempo. He takes Jack’s hand and steps side to side, as if they are dancing. “Or if you want to strike me down in anger, here I stand. I’m your man.”

Jack drops his head on Gabe’s chest and laughs. “Jesus Christ, you are ridiculous.”

“That’s ‘I’m Your Man,’ baby,” Gabe grins. “It’s our song. They played it for our first dance at the wedding reception.”

“I remember, Gabe. But that song was old then. Don’t let the kids hear you singing it or they won’t think you’re cool anymore.”

“No one thinks I’m cool anymore,” Gabe sighs. He nuzzles Jack’s smooth cheek with his bristly moustache. “No one but you.”

“I never thought you were cool.”

“Yeah, you did.”

“When?”

“When we took Andreev’s class and we went to that hotel. You stole my shirt and my hoodie and started wearing them all the time.”

“We were there for like, three days after that.”

“Yeah, but you wore my clothes while we were in Cedar Rapids too.”

“I did?”

“You did. Your mom noticed, you know.”

“Oh, fuck, I remember now,” Jack says. “Anything to do with my family is still…hard for me. But I do remember my mom had us figured out. And she told me I should be careful with you.”

“Oh yeah?” Gabe raises an eyebrow. “She think I was dangerous?”

“No, she said that I might not be sure how I felt about you yet, but that you were in love with me.”

“You weren’t sure? Aw, ouch baby.”

“I was,” Jack smiles, “I just didn’t know it yet. It was that day Ashley called her after we went to the park. We were in the kitchen later and she told me she wanted me to be happy and how proud she was of me. I never got to tell my dad, though.”

“He would’ve been proud of you too, Jack. He’d be so proud of the man you are.”

“I…hope so,” Jack says. A brief look of pain flickers across his face, but he shakes it off. “Well, you want to go see what your boys got out of the mercs?”

“Yep. Unless you feel like I could use some more…reprimanding.”

“No, I think you got the message,” Jack says, stepping nimbly out of his grasp and starting toward the door.

Gabe picks up his coffee and follows. “I dunno baby, I fucked up pretty bad. I might need a little more discipline.”

“Not a chance,” Jack says flatly, swatting Gabe’s hand away. “That suspension stands, by the way. I can’t have people thinking I show you preferential treatment.”

“Fine, but I’m not cooking for you until you unsuspend me.”

Jack stops short with his hand on the door. “You don’t mean that.”

“Hey, that’s the deal, baby,” Gabe shrugs. He pushes the door open and strolls through. “I don’t make the rules.”

“This is a disproportionate retaliation, Gabe!” Jack says, hurrying after him. “I might be driven to eat in the mess! Do you want that on your conscience?”

 

Up in the Intel Center, Gabe and Jack find Vasquez talking with Gallegos and Hicks, who have apparently finished their analysis of the medical equipment from the scene.

“Commander, boss,” Vasquez says, standing and saluting. He hands Jack a tablet. “I just came up to drop my report, sir.”

“Anything useful from the mercs?” Jack asks.

Vasquez blinks, as if he doesn’t understand the question. “Sir?”

“The two mercs we brought in for interrogation, Agent Vasquez,” Jack says impatiently. “Did you learn anything useful from them?”

Gallegos glances at Hicks, then they both look up at the Strike Commander, but neither of them speak.

“There must be some misunderstanding, sir,” Vasquez says. “All eighteen hostiles were neutralized at the scene. They’re tagged and on ice in the morgue. It’s all there in my report.”

Jack holds the man in his keen gaze for a moment.

“I see,” he says. “I must have been mistaken. Thank you, Agent Vasquez. That’ll be all.”

“Yes, sir,” Vasquez says. He salutes again and retreats.

“Night, Vasquez,” Gabe smirks, as his agent departs. He drops into a chair beside the Intel men. “What the fuck are you two doing in here? Playing grabass?”

“Typing up our reports, boss,” Hicks says, as both agents hastily return to their monitors. “We’re almost done.”

“What was all that med equipment?” Jack asks, sitting down at the table and resting his feet on another chair. “And don’t tell me we didn’t bring any back.”

“No, sir, of course not,” Gallegos says innocently. “Mostly pretty standard stuff. An IV rig, a multi-parameter patient monitor, and some displays. The only odd thing was the EEG.”

“What the fuck would they want to record her brain activity for,” Gabe frowns. “Unless they were interrogating her.”

“She said they asked her a lot of questions,” Jack says. “But I’m not too worried about it. Gérard knows his business and doesn’t tell her much about work.”

“Maybe,” Gabe says. “Or maybe our little swan isn’t as delicate as she looks.”

“Either way, I don’t believe they got anything from her. I sat in while Gérard questioned her. Apparently they kept her sedated most of the time, so she’s fuzzy on the details, but she’s not hiding anything.”

“Poor kid,” Gabe says, moving to get up from his chair. “I better go and talk to her.”

“Gabe, before you do,” Jack says. “You should know that Gérard has handed me his resignation. He’ll stay till after the Paris COR opens, but he says he can’t live this way anymore, always fearing for her life because of his job.”

“Fuck.” Gabe sighs and massages his brow. “I guess I don’t blame him. But I hate to lose such a good agent. Not to mention a friend.”

“It’s better than losing him and Mel both because we couldn’t let him go,” Jack says. “It’s what either one of us would do in that situation.”

“If we had a choice, yeah. I guess we would.”

“Their security detail has been tripled, by the way. And they’re only to ride in Overwatch armed transports for the time-being. Hopefully it’s enough.”

“Good. I’ll be back in a little while,” Gabe says, rising to go. “And make sure these two finish their reports before they fuck off for the night.”

“Of course, boss,” Jack grins.

 

 

The morning after next, the physicians pronounce Madame Lacroix well enough to be discharged, and Gérard Lacroix takes his beautiful young wife home. Though she insists she can walk on her own, he lifts her out of the armored transport vehicle and carries her over the threshold of their spacious flat, as he had done the day they were married. She laughs her musical little laugh and calls him a silly old bear.

“I am a very silly old bear,” he says, as they go down the hallway (he is almost twenty years her senior, after all). “And you are a silly little honeybee.”

“Where are you taking me?” she pouts, seeing that she is being carried into the bedroom. “I am not sleepy, Gérard.”

“Non, mon sucre d’orge. But perhaps the old bear wishes to devour you, now that he has got you back in his den.”

“No, no, do not devour me, mon ours!” she giggles, swatting him in mock protest as he tosses her onto the bed and covers her face with kisses.

The days that follow are the sweetest in Gérard’s life. He has always loved his darling little swan with a tender and zealous devotion, but now, nearly having lost her, he feels every moment of her presence as a keen and precious ache in his heart. Her soft voice singing “La Vie en rose” or “Non, je ne regrette rien” as she bathes. Her tiny, graceful footsteps when she dances about him in the kitchen in the morning, as he cooks breakfast for her. These things are all he wants. They are enough to make him a happy man for the rest of his life. He regrets leaving the agency, and disappointing Jack and Gabi, but thinks he will not miss the work so much, with Amélie by his side. She is the most lovely and cherished thing in the world to him.

Her ordeal with the Talon scum, as he calls them, does not seem to have to bruised her cheerful spirit too severely, although he has noticed that she has suddenly become reluctant to let him stray from her sight for very long. She will pout and cling when he wishes to step out to the market for some fresh fruit or bread. She even joins him when he goes out to the balcony for a cigarette, snuggling into him despite the smoke, which used to make her wrinkle her little nose and shut the sliding door behind him.

One night he finds her sitting on the windowsill beside their bed, with tears in her beautiful eyes. He embraces her and holds her close, whispering soothing words till she is calm. Poor darling. She must have been so afraid. It is alright now. He will never leave her side again. She gazes adoringly up at her tall, handsome husband as he lowers her gently into bed.

“Je t’aime,” she says, laying a hand on his cheek. “Je t’aime, mon cher Gérard.”

“Je t’aime aussi,” he says, kissing her dear, lovely lips. “Je t’aime tellement, ma belle Amélie.”

They caress and kiss one another, and make ardent, impassioned love, with many avowals of eternal devotion passing between them. Hours later, when she stirs and rises from their bed, she kisses his lips once more, though they are cold and unresponsive now. She steps to the window, swings it silently open, and stands upon the sill, gazing on her husband’s still, pale face.

With tears in her large, hazel eyes, she repeats her words of love. “Je t’aime, mon cher Gérard.”

Then she spreads her arms like wings and falls backward into the night, a white swan in the black sky, plummeting earthward to certain death on the rain-slick pavement many stories below. But long before she reaches the street, she gives a little flick of her wrist. A thin, glimmering strand like spider’s silk flies from it and anchors itself in the stonework. She rights herself effortlessly and swings in a graceful arc, using her momentum to send her body heavenward again. She lets go the strand and sails down toward the roof of the next building, which sits a good deal lower than the one she has exited in this singular manner. Just as she nears the edge, large, powerful, black-clad arms reach out to receive her, catch her, draw her in and clasp her tightly.

“Is it done?” her companion asks.

“It is done,” she says.

“I am sorry, Amélie,” he replies quietly.

“Non,” she whispers, hiding her face in his black hood. “Non, je ne regrette rien.”

 

 

 

When the news of the death of Agent Lacroix, in bed and apparently in his sleep, and the disappearance of his wife Amélie reaches Overwatch Swiss HQ, Jesse thinks it’s time to lay out his case before his Commander. He has never been satisfied with the explanation regarding how Madame Lacroix’s abduction proceeded, nor the presumption that her vehicle’s security camera was disabled by the EMP that stopped the car. In the time since he’s been back from his week of leave, he’s been doing quite a bit of digging and thinks he has enough to support his case.

He believes now that the camera was disabled by Madame Lacroix herself, as a preamble to the EMP being set off, giving her time to cover and prevent being injured by the small detonation that shattered the vehicle’s windows. The most damning of his evidence, however, is the fact that while Madame Lacroix was in residence at Swiss HQ, there were two unaccounted entries to Commander Reyes’ office. One before Jesse departed for Japan, and one right after Commander Reyes departed to join him. Unfortunately, there are no security cameras in the Blackwatch sector, and the cameras on the elevators and stairs show no evidence of any non-Blackwatch personnel entering that area. Still, his gut tells him Madame Lacroix was the leak, and his suspicions, it seems, have been confirmed in the cruelest possible way.

He waits till the day after Agent Lacroix’s funeral, then brings his case to Commander Reyes. To Jesse’s chagrin, the Commander takes the file and thanks him distractedly, then sends him away. When Jesse inquires about it a week later, he is met with a harsher rebuff. The Commander tells him in no uncertain terms that Amélie Lacroix was no fucking spy and to let this one go, or he will be placed on disciplinary leave. Thus chastised, Jesse drops the subject and does not bring it up again. But it rankles, and he does not forget it.

In the meantime, Gabe and Jack have been making a concerted effort to figure out how to make Jesse feel like part of an actual family, if that is possible, with Jack away for the Paris COR opening gala, and Jesse spending every spare moment with Ben and Luisa. One day, Gabe corners Jesse as he departs for the evening and explains to him that he _will_ be having dinner with his father and stepfather the next night. Whether they do it in the lockup or at an actual restaurant will be up to Jesse. Jesse grins and asks if he means the brig, which almost earns him a night in it, for good measure.

 

The following evening, Jesse finds himself seated in the Strike Commander’s car, across from his father and his father’s husband, the man he has wanted since childhood and with whom he very nearly consummated that attraction several months ago. The situation is so painfully embarrassing to him, that he finds himself withdrawing into the reticent behavior that had irritated the Strike Commander to no end when Jesse worked for him for a week.

Jack, however, understands Jesse quite a bit better now, and his heart swells with sympathy for the boy’s position. He looks at Gabe, who is making very little effort to conceal his enjoyment of the entire thing, and nudges him with an elbow.

“What?” Gabe says. “Why are you fucking elbowing me, Jack?”

“Jesus Christ, Gabe,” Jack sighs. “I was trying to tell you to wipe that smile off your face and have a little compassion for your son, but I didn’t want to say it out loud like this.”

“I’m just fine,” Jesse mutters from beneath the brim of his hat. “Ain’t nobody gotta have compassion for me.”

“See Jack?” Gabe grins. “Ain’t nobody gotta have compassion for Agent McCree. He’s just fine.”

“Jesse,” Jack says, turning to the boy. “I’m sorry your father is such an asshole. He’s sorry, too.”

“I am absolutely not sorry,” Gabe says.

“He _will_ be sorry, later,” Jack corrects.

“Hey!” Gabe protests. “I don’t have to be sorry. I’m not the one who made out—”

“Gabe, if you finish that sentence…” Jack says warningly.

“Alright, alright,” Gabe grumbles. “I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“For being an asshole. There. You happy?”

Jack smiles. “Yes. Thank you, Gabe.”

Jesse has lifted his head and is watching this interchange with a somewhat awed expression. He’s never seen anyone call the boss to heel like this before and he finds it excessively entertaining.

“That’s ok, jefe,” he drawls lazily. “I forgive you for bein’ a asshole. We can’t all be grown-ups all the time.”

Gabe raises and eyebrow. “Oh yeah? I’ll show you grown-up, you little f—”

“Gabe!” Jack snaps.

Jesse grins cherubically and Gabe glowers, and the evening progresses more pleasantly for Jesse after this point. They are driven to an upscale steakhouse that Jesse finds eminently to his taste, and the delicious food and the excellent tequila that Gabe has chosen have their intended effect. Before they have finished their first courses, they are chatting very sociably together.

“So,” Gabe says, setting down his empty glass. An Omnic waiter glides forward and refills it instantly. Gabe shoos him away and continues. “So. You two were going to have sex.”

Jack’s pale cheeks turn charmingly pink and Jesse dives into his tequila, trying to stifle a laugh at the fact.

“It’s ok, baby,” Gabe says. “We’re all grown-ups, remember? We can move past it.”

“I already have,” Jesse agrees heartily, raising his glass. “Ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed of, Jack.”

“I’m not ashamed of it,” Jack insists, turning brighter pink. “And did you just call me Jack?”

“What you want me to call you?” Jesse asks, eyeing him mischievously. “Daddy?”

Jack chokes on his drink and turns positively crimson, coughing and sputtering as Gabe laughs and pats his back.

“Hey, Jack, don’t worry,” he says solicitously. “I can make him call you daddy if you want.”

“You two—motherfuckers!” Jack gasps through a fit of mirth. “You’re going to kill me!”

“I think it’s drownin’ in your glass as gonna kill you,” Jesse observes helpfully. “I thought y’all super-soldiers could hold your liquor.”

“Yeah, Jack,” Gabe chides. “And watch the language in front of the kid, why don’t you. You kiss my son with that mouth?”

“I’ll fucking—demote both of you,” Jack says, now nearly in tears of laughter. “You assholes!”

“Well, like father like son,” Jesse says, tipping his glass cheerfully.

“Listen,” Gabe cuts in, pulling a serious face. “I’m not upset about what happened between you two. It’s water under the bridge. But I do have to know one thing.”

Jack and Jesse look at him expectantly.

He grins. “Who would’ve topped?”

In unison, Jack and Jesse both say, “Me.” Then they look at each other dubiously and both say, “What? No!”

The two proceed to debate the issue with energy, which sets Gabe laughing till he can’t breathe, at which point the Omnic waiter returns, manifesting deep concern for the gentleman who appears to be choking. Gabe shoos him away a second time, just as Jesse handily wins the argument by flashing Jack a rakish wink and suggesting that there’s only one way to find out for sure. At this master stroke, Jack retires from the field defeated and retreats into Gabe’s arms.

“It’s ok, baby,” Gabe says, kissing Jack’s cheek. “You’re safe. Jesse’s got his hands more than full anyway.”

“Full enough, I reckon,” Jesse says, draining his glass.

“What do you mean?” Jack asks (rather naïvely).

Gabe sits up and puffs out his chest, and gestures to Jesse. “Jack, my son has been banging a couple of models. At the same time.”

“Jesus, Jesse!” Jack exclaims. “Two? At the same time? …Models?”

“Yep,” Jesse says nonchalantly. “Ben was in a couple Têtu magazine spreads and Luisa’s the gal from all them Givenchy ads downtown.”

“The uh…the brunette with the long legs?”

“Bout a quarter mile long,” Jesse grins.

“You always want the best for your kids,” Gabe says, pretending to wipe away a tear. “I’ve just—I’ve never been so proud to be a father.”

“You been with two people at once, pop?” Jesse asks.

“Fuck yeah, I have,” Gabe says, then glances at his husband and clears his throat. “I mean, yes. A long, long time ago before I met the love of my life.”

Jack rolls his eyes.

“How ‘bout you, Jack?” Jesse says.

“Me?” Jack says. “No, never. It’s just…not something that interested me.”

“That’s not what you told me when—ow!” Gabe yelps, as Jack kicks him hard under the table. “Don’t beat me in front of the kid, Jack. He’ll have trauma.”

“Naw, I reckon I’ll be alright. You go ahead. He got it comin’ anyhow.”

“Good boy,” Jack says. “I’m raising your allowance.”

“Wait, so you two can talk about your little incestuous makeout all you want, but I can’t talk about Jack wanting to—ow! God damn it, Jack! That one really hurt.”

“Incestuous,” Jesse says, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s the way it works, jefe. He ain’t my real daddy just on account of y’all’s married.”

“Oh, that’s…not exactly what he means,” Jack says uneasily. “Jesse you and I are…well, we’re actually cousins. Third cousins. I just found out. After we had that…”

“Makeout,” Gabe offers.

“Incident,” Jack says, glaring at him.

“Huh,” Jesse says thoughtfully. “Well, I guess I’m all set to win redneck bingo, then. Y’know. Didn’t know my daddy, never went to high school, tried to fuck my cousin who’s also my stepdad…”

“Yeah, but you lose points for having bisexual threesomes with two fashion models,” Gabe says. “Sorry, mijo.”

Jesse shrugs. “Welp, can’t win ‘em all.”

“Jesse listen,” Jack says. “You have some more family. We actually wanted to talk to you about that.”

“I already worked that shit out about the doc, if that’s what you gettin’ at,” Jesse says. “I know she’s my mama’s mama.”

“Gabe told me. But…you also have a grandfather. And an aunt and a first cousin.”

“I got a grandpa?” Jesse says, turning a little pale. “Like, a livin’ one?”

“Yeah,” Gabe says. “Your mother’s father. His name is Thomas Lawrence. He was our boss a long time ago.”

Jesse swallows in his suddenly parched throat. Where’s that fuckin’ bot waiter now someone really needs a drink?

“If he was y’all’s boss, don’t that make him, like…a hundred years old?”

“I think he’s well over a hundred by now,” Gabe says. “But he’s more like us. So he won’t seem that old to you.”

“What you mean won’t seem?”

“Well, our friend Lydia—your aunt Lydia, actually—invited us to come visit in June,” Jack says. “She wants you to come and sort of…meet the family.”

“Oh.” Jesse blinks. The waiter finally fills his glass, and he downs the entire pour in one go. “Well…I guess there’s no time like the present, then.”

“Hey, I know this is a lot, mijo. But there are people who care about you and want to know you. I hope you’ll come with us.”

“I reckon if grandma’s got a hand in this, I ain’t got much choice.”

“No, not much,” Jack laughs. “I’ve got a feeling you’re going to get along with your grandfather pretty well, though.”

“Was him and the doc, like—”

“No, no, no,” Gabe says. “Angela’s not like that with anyone. She uh…did the whole in-vitro thing with your mother, too.”

“I guess gettin’ mixed up like a fuckin’ milkshake runs in the family, then,” Jesse says, with an edge of bitterness creeping into his voice.

“Sorry, Jesse,” Gabe says. “I didn’t mean to put it so insensitively.”

“That’s alright. I got some of my own shit to work out with granny. That ain’t y’all’s fault.”

“Just remember,” Jack says. “Evelyn and Angela had a difficult relationship, but Evelyn was Angela’s daughter. She did love her. And she loves you.”

“Hey, this is getting really heavy,” Gabe cuts in. “Let’s talk about it later, ok? Jesse, we wanted to take you out and show you a good time, not bum you out with all the family drama at once. There anything you’d like to do?”

“Yeah, I got an idea,” Jesse says, brightening a little. “Y’all wanna go over to the Rawhide? Jack still ain’t tried that mechanical bull.”

 

 


	94. Ben

Jack should have guessed by the fact that his alarm hadn’t sounded, that something was amiss. He _should_ have. That is to say, he did not. He had not awoken until Athena had helpfully chimed at 0630 to remind him of his budget meeting with the division heads at 0700. He had thanked the AI and then hurried off to the shower without thinking much about it.

The shower wakes him up thoroughly and as he is shaving before the mirror, his senses become alert to what is likely the most delicious smell that can greet a man first thing in the morning: fresh-brewing coffee and some kind of dish with corn tortillas and peppers being cooked. He can hear Gabe moving about the kitchen singing to himself in Spanish, too. This is something he does when he’s in a particularly good mood.

Jack smiles. He knew that sooner or later, Gabe’s passion for the culinary arts would overrule his threat not to cook for him until he was removed from suspension. Or maybe he’s just given up. His suspension is over tomorrow, anyway. Jack hastens his grooming, dresses quickly, and steps out to the the dining room, where Gabe is setting a steaming mug of coffee on the table. He is wearing a blue apron with an absurd abundance of utility pockets and the words “Raise the Steaks” emblazoned across the front in big, white capital letters.

“Morning, cielito,” Gabe says, with a sly smile. “You’re running late.”

Trustingly, Jack returns the smile. “You kept me up late. Where’d you find that old apron? I thought I left it in storage with our house things.”

“Please, Jack. The infamous Fourth of July apron? This was far too special to be left lying around in a box in Virginia. I sneaked it in with my personal gear when I took off.”

“I’m glad you did,” Jack says, lifting his mug. “You really shouldn’t cook in your underwear though, Gabe.”

“Oh, I’m not,” Gabe says.

He winks and turns back to the stove. Jack nearly chokes on his mouthful of coffee. His husband is not cooking in his underwear. Beneath the blue apron he is, in fact, entirely free of any garment whatsoever. Jack’s cock swells and his stomach rumbles, and for a moment, the battling desires confound his wits. He stands there staring at Gabe for a moment, absently dabbing the the front his uniform jacket with a napkin.

“What…uh—what are you making?” he asks, raking his eyes hungrily over his husband’s bronzed, muscular body.

“Huevos rancheros,” Gabe answers, without turning around.

Jack drops the napkin and walks over to stand close behind him. He slides his hands around that perfect, narrow waist.

“Smells delicious,” he breathes, pressing his lips into the smooth, honey-brown skin on the back of Gabe’s neck.

Gabe laughs softly. “Me? Or the food?”

“Both,” Jack says. He moves his hands down to take hold of Gabe’s hips. Gabe pushes his bare ass up against Jack’s fly.

“You hungry, cariño?” he purrs.

“Hungry…” Jack murmurs, grinding his achingly hard cock against Gabe’s taut, round ass through his pants. “Very…very hungry.”

“Good. Your breakfast is on the entryway table. Go on. You’re going to be late.”

“Entryway…late…?” Jack mumbles, as Gabe pushes him away.

He blinks stupidly at the little white table beside the front door. Sure enough, there is a packaged nutrition bar sitting on it, on top of his suspiciously absent phone. All at once, the magnitude of Jack’s folly is revealed to him.

“Gabe, you…you wouldn’t,” he says, aghast. “A protein bar?”

“Oh, I would, Jack,” Gabe grins. “Now go. It’s 0655 and you have a meeting in five minutes.”

“But—but—”

“But nothing. I told you, cariño. I’m not cooking for you until you unsuspend me.”

“But…huevos rancheros! And—and…you’re naked!” Jack says, making the best argument he can in his confused state of arousal and hypoglycemia.

“Aw, Jack,” Gabe says. He reaches out and strokes his befuddled husband’s cheek. “I’d love to help you, baby, but it’s 0657 and the food isn’t done. I can’t let you eat undercooked eggs. It wouldn’t be safe. Now go.”

Before Jack can think of a response to this, he has been bustled out the door and is standing in the hallway staring down at the nutrition bar in his hand. He takes two uncertain steps, then he shakes himself and starts briskly down the hall toward the elevator.

Gabe arranges his golden tortillas and perfectly-fried eggs on a large, white plate. He covers this in a mouthwatering tomato-chili sauce (abuelita’s special recipe), and garnishes the dish with a scoop of savory Mexican rice, and ripe, tender, avocado slices. He is setting his heavily loaded plate on the dining room table when the door slides open and Jack comes striding back in with his shoulders squared and battle in his eyes.

“Athena!” Jack booms, as the door closes behind him. “Cancel my budget meeting.”

“Yes, Commander,” Athena chimes. “Would you like to specify a reason for cancellation?”

“Because I fucking said so,” Jack replies, standing chest to chest with Gabe and looking him fiercely in the eye.

“Very well, Commander,” Athena intones cheerfully. “Budget meeting cancelled, due to: because I fucking said so. Memo sent to staff. Will there be anything else, Commander?”

“Nothing else.”

Gabe crosses his arms. “Jack, you are not being a very responsible—”

“Shut your mouth,” Jack growls into his husband’s ear. “I’ll tell you when to open it.”

The hairs on the back of Gabe’s neck stand up. Jack’s hot breath is on his skin. His hands are reaching behind him, untying the apron. He swats at Jack’s hand and gets shoved backward into the wall. Jack lifts the apron off over his head and drops it on the floor. Gabe leans against the wall, watching Jack admire his body. He’s well aware of his physical appearance. How well he wears his old scars. How angular and masculine his jaw looks, with its rugged swath of dark facial hair. How at his age, he’s still built like a marble statue of a gladiator. The look of brazen lust in Jack’s eyes nearly makes his mouth water. Still, he has no intention of letting him get off this easily.

“Eye-fuck me all you want, Jack, but I’m a lot stronger than you,” he laughs. “You can’t take me.”

Jack pulls the chair beside him out from the table and calmly seats himself. He cocks his head to the side and fixes Gabe with those deep, brilliant, sea-blue eyes.

He parts his perfect lips and says, “Kneel.”

Gabe drops instantly. Like a reflex. He’s not aware of obeying a command until he finds himself on his knees with his head on Jack’s thigh.

“You’re so beautiful, Gabe,” Jack sighs, twisting his fingers lazily in Gabe’s hair. “I think I’ll keep you like this, so I can look at you while I eat.”

Gabe lifts his head to reply and Jack pushes it firmly back down. He growls, but he doesn’t lift it again. He’s not exactly unhappy at this turn of events, merely surprised. He has plenty of time to think about it while he’s on his knees with his head in Jack’s lap, as Jack sits tranquilly enjoying the food Gabe had prepared to tease him.

He thinks he shouldn’t be so surprised, really. Jack is not a naturally submissive man. He’d only ever been submissive to him. But Gabe had assumed that Jack’s dominance lately had been something they were playing at. A game. He understands suddenly that Jack’s dependence on him has lulled him into a sense of authority. The disparity in their physical strength has led him to believe he is in control. But Jack has always had this power over him. He has simply chosen not to use it.

Jack takes his time with his meal. When he is finished, he sets down his fork, wipes his lips demurely with his napkin and sits back. He lays his hand on the back of Gabe’s neck.

“This was delicious, Gabe, thank you,” he says. “You can clear the dishes now.”

Despite his excitement over Jack’s nascent sexual dominance, Gabe is not naturally submissive either. His strongly defiant streak rushes to the surface and his cheeks burn at being ordered to this menial task (also, he’s a little miffed that Jack actually ate his breakfast). He lifts himself slowly to his feet and bends down, placing his face an inch from Jack’s.

He grins wickedly, baring his row of sharp, white teeth. “Make me.”

“Ok, Gabe. Have it your way,” Jack says sweetly, with his stunning, sunlit smile. “Go put your hands on the back of the sofa and wait for me.”

Gabe likes this order much better. He readily complies, plants his hands firmly on the back of the sofa, and waits. He hears Jack taking the plate and coffee cup and setting them in the sink, then washing his hands. Then he moves back into the living room, opens and shuts a drawer, and steps behind him. Gabe hears his belt buckle and fly being undone. Then…nothing. What is Jack waiting for?

“Fuck me, baby,” he says impatiently. “I’m ready for you.”

“I know,” Jack replies softly. “I like…looking at you. Spread yourself open for me.”

Without his hands to support him, Gabe has to bend over the sofa and lean against it with his weight on his thighs. He reaches back with both hands and spreads his ass. He feels absurdly vulnerable, bent over like this, exposing himself to Jack. Waiting to be fucked. The idea sends a thrill up his spine, and his cock throbs with arousal.

“Fuck. You’re so beautiful,” Jack breathes, tracing his fingertips over the smooth, dusky-brown surface of his husband’s muscular back. “I love your body.”

Gabe is rock-hard and aching with anticipation, now. He gasps and twitches as something cold and wet drizzles over his exposed asshole. Jack presses the warm, slippery head of his cock against the opening and begins to penetrate him gradually. There’s no need for him to do it so carefully. He knows Gabe’s body adapts too quickly for even sudden penetration to hurt him. He’s teasing him. Tantalizing him with the slow, girthy slide as he fills his eager hole inch by inch.

“Gabe, you’re—ah,” Jack pants. “You’re so fucking tight. You feel so good.”

Gabe arches his back and gives a frustrated whine. He can’t push himself back on Jack’s cock with his weight balanced the way it is. He just needs a little more, and it’ll be there, right in that spot. Jack feels Gabe’s hot, snug hole constricting on him, as if it’s trying to suck him in. He stops. Begins to withdraw.

“Fuck, Jack,” Gabe groans. “Please, baby, you’re killing me!”

Jack laughs, low and deep in his chest. He slides himself almost all the way out, adjusts his angle, then snaps his hips forward, slamming his cock against Gabe’s prostate. Gabe’s knees buckle and he bursts into a jumbled stream of Spanish and English profanity. This is Jack’s favorite music. He takes him by the hips and keeps thrusting at the same angle, fucking his husband into a fit of linguistic excess unfit to print in any language. Aching shivers crawl up and coil tightly in Gabe’s gut. Jack feels his insides clamping down and squeezing on his cock.

“Cariño—I’m so fucking close,” Gabe pleads. “Damelo, please, please!”

Jack bends over, pressing his teeth into Gabe’s shoulder. He reaches around and takes hold of Gabe’s big, thick cock. It’s stiff and hot and leaking all over the back of the sofa. He grips it firmly and thrusts deeper and faster, pounding Gabe into the sofa with so much force, it actually begins to move on the carpet. He gives a final, deep plunge and holds it, and Gabe feels the rapid, twitching convulsions of Jack’s cock spewing into his asshole as he comes.

“Gabe—I love you so much,” Jack pants against the back of his neck. “But you don’t fucking—want to go to war—with me.”

Gabe gives a hoarse yelp as Jack jerks his cock abruptly out of his quivering asshole and staggers backward a few steps, leaving Gabe on the razor’s edge of climax, cock dripping and throbbing, balls heavy and aching for release. Jack falls breathlessly into a chair, gasping with laughter.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Gabe bellows. “Jack, you asshole!”

Jack watches the hard muscles in that perfect ass tensing and shaking as Gabe grabs his tortured cock and wrings himself forcefully. Jack’s come is spilling out of him, running down his thick, muscular thighs. He comes with a strangled groan, spurting viscous, milky fluid all over the back of the white sofa. Then he sits down hard and collapses onto his back on the carpet.

“Laugh it up, boyscout,” he says, looking at Jack upside-down from the floor. “See if I ever cook for you again.”

“Yeah, you will,” Jack says, still laughing. “And you’ll fucking put the dishes in the sink when I tell you to next time.”

He gets up and lies on the floor beside Gabe, nestling into the crook of his neck and stroking the patch of black, curly hair on his chest.

“Don’t try to cozy up to me, Morrison,” Gabe grumbles, but he wraps his arms around Jack anyway. “I can’t believe you ate my fucking breakfast.”

“Well, I can’t believe you took my phone just to make me late for work,” Jack retorts. “Plus, now you have an excuse to cook some more.”

“Yeah, well…I’m still mad.”

“No you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” Gabe laughs. “But I _am_ leaking all over the carpet.”

He gets up and pulls Jack to his feet. Jack cranes his neck up for a kiss, giving Gabe’s ass playful squeeze.

“You better get this ass in the shower,” he grins. “Then you can clean up the mess you made on the couch.”

 

 

 

Gabe is seated at his desk doing his least favorite kind of work: reviewing and signing documents. These ones are related to the efforts he and Claudia have begun to build a Blackwatch medical team. He thanks his lucky stars he didn’t get the Strike-Commander position. He can’t imagine the mind-numbing drudgery Jack has to put up with. He hears footsteps in the hall and looks up.

“Did you ask him?” he says, before Jesse is all the way in the door.

“Yeah, he’s comin’,” Jesse replies irritably. “I told you he would.”

“What’s wrong, Jesse?”

“Nothin’,” Jesse says, flinging himself onto the sofa. “Nothin’s wrong. I’m just fine.”

Gabe smirks. “Yeah, cause that’s what people say when nothing’s actually wrong.”

Jesse cocks an eye at him from beneath the brim of his hat. “You real clever today, jefe. That’s just like that shit I said to you, only you turned it around on me.”

“Hey, Jesse,” Gabe says, setting down his pen. “I’m sorry you’re feeling out of sorts today, but in case you don’t recall, I’m still your fucking boss. You can either tell me why you’re acting like a spoiled teenaged girl, or you can get off my couch and get the fuck out of my office.”

Jesse glares at Gabe and almost drags himself up off the couch to storm out, but thinks the better of it. He knows his Commander very well, and he has enough brains not to do something so outright disrespectful.

“I told you I ain’t wanted to lie to Ben, boss,” he says sullenly. “I told you that was important to me and now you makin’ me lie to him anyhow.”

“Jesse, this isn’t the same.”

“How ain’t it the same? I still ain’t tellin’ him the truth. If you want him workin’ for you, why don’t you just offer him a job and interview him like a normal person and leave me out of it.”

“Because this isn’t a normal job, mijo,” Gabe says, suppressing a smile at the boy’s insolent pout. “I don’t interview special agents. I recruit them. And I don’t recruit anyone until I’m sure about them. I can’t tell Ben the parameters of the job until he accepts it, so if it doesn’t work out, it’s better not to have brought it up.”

“So, you ain’t tellin’ him, but he’s really gettin’ interviewed for a job while we’re on this little family vacation together.”

“Family, Jesse,” Gabe says. “That’s exactly it. The people here are more than just coworkers. They are family. We have to spend a lot of time together and trust each other in life and death situations. If they feel off about him or he feels off about them, then it won’t work.”

“Alright, jefe, I get ya. But it ain’t really ‘they’ we talkin’ about, is it.”

Gabe hesitates for a beat. “No.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Jesse digs out his pack of cigarettes and lights one, then he stretches out his long legs and rests his feet on the coffee table. “So…what if him and Jack don’t hit it off?”

“If they’re not a match, then we don’t say anything and Ben doesn’t have to know about it,” Gabe says, studying Jesse’s posture and facial expression. He knows what is coming next, before Jesse opens his mouth to say it.

“What happened to all that shit about Ben’s an innocent civilian and keep him away from my work? He’s still an innocent civilian and you talkin’ about puttin’ him in more danger than he ever been.”

“Jesse, Ben is an adult human being. He can make his own choices. No one is going to coerce him into doing this.”

“Boss, you might think just cause you know how to talk nice for the regular folks, they ain’t onto you,” Jesse says through his cloud of smoke. “But you’re a dangerous man, and they know it just as plain as a deer knows what a wolf is. It don’t take much of a push from you to be the same as coercion.”

“You’re a dangerous man, too, Jesse,” Gabe says. “You think Ben doesn’t know it?”

“I know he does. He told me he does.”

“But he sleeps with you.”

“He ain’t scared of me. There’s a difference between knowin’ a man’s dangerous and bein’ scared of him. He knows I’m only dangerous to the bad guys.”

“So am I.”

Jesse almost says, “Are you?” but he bites his tongue. Instead, he pulls the brim of his hat down low and sinks further into the sofa, blowing fat, lazy rings of smoke into the air.

“I care about him, boss,” he says at last. “He’s pure and good and he ain’t part of this life of killin’ and lyin’ and livin’ in the shadows. I don’t want to see him get cold and hard like us. It’d break my heart.”

“I know, Jesse,” Gabe sighs. “I know. But he won’t be like us. He’ll get basic combat and clandestine training and then he’ll pretty much just be on call. He won’t have to live the life we do.”

“Naw, he’ll just be a walkin’ bulletproof vest for Jack,” Jesse says bitterly.

“Is that what you think of me?” Gabe snaps, rising suddenly from his chair. “Look at me.”

He clears the desk with dizzying speed and has both hands on Jesse’s collar before Jesse can blink. He doesn’t hurt him or even hold tightly, but just the symbolic act has a powerful effect. Jesse’s hat falls off the back of his head and he stares up at his father, wide eyed and breathless.

“Is that what you think of me, Jesse?” Gabe repeats. “Is that what you think of Jack? That either one of us would willingly allow another human being to be hurt or killed in our place, no matter what the circumstances? If you think that’s even possible, then you don’t know shit about us, son. Jack would eat a bullet for that kid before he’d let anything happen to him, and he’s never even met him!”

He lets go of Jesse and turns away, flinging his knit cap onto his desk and running his hands over his neatly-shorn scalp. His heart is pounding and his body shakes with adrenaline. He takes a long, meditative breath and steadies himself. Cools his blazing anger. Orders his internal systems back into a state of calm. Thus controlled, he turns back toward Jesse, just in time to be hit dead center by two-hundred pounds of athletically built twenty-year-old. Jesse throws his arms around Gabe and buries his face in his chest.

“I’m sorry, dad,” he says, in a trembling voice. “I’m real sorry about that dumb shit I said.”

Gabe is uncertain whether to laugh or cry at the drastic alteration in Jesse’s manner. He wraps his powerful arms around his son and covers his shaggy, dark-brown hair with kisses.

“It’s ok, mijo, it’s ok,” he says soothingly. “Shh. I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

Jesse pulls back and blinks up at Gabe. “But…you ain’t scared me, pa. I know you’d never hurt me.”

“Then why are you so upset?” Gabe asks, wiping a tear from Jesse’s beautiful, bewildered face.

“Cause you got mad,” Jesse sniffles. “But you only got so mad on account of I hurt your feelings sayin’ that hard shit to you. I ain’t meant it, I’m just worried about my friend, is all.”

“I hope you didn’t mean it, Jesse. I can’t stomach the idea that you could think of me or Jack that way.”

“I don’t, pa, honest. I’m all worked up about some other shit and I let my mouth run off.”

“What are you worked up about?”

“Meetin’ my family. It ain’t gonna easy goin’ from bein’ all alone to havin’ a whole buncha people around havin’ all types of opinions about me and…and talkin’ about my mama.”

“I know it’s overwhelming, mijo,” Gabe says. “But I’ll be there with you. Any time it gets to be too much or you just want to get away, signal me and I’ll take you away, ok?”

“Ok, pa,” Jesse nods. “Thanks.”

“Listen, there’s something we never talked about that we really need to. It might come up while we’re there, and I want us to figure out how to address it before we go.”

“What’s that?”

“Noah.”

“My ma’s friend?”

“Maybe. We still don’t know if it’s the same man. But if it is, they all knew him, too. It might be a sensitive subject, claiming you saw him alive years after we buried him.”

“You ain’t got like, a picture of him or anything, do you? Cause that’d be a real help, boss.”

Gabe’s shoulders visibly tense and he stands wavering for a moment. He hasn’t allowed himself to look at a picture of Noah in many years. But this is far, far too important to leave unresolved.

“Yeah…I do,” he says. “In my room. Come on.”

 

With an extraordinary effort of will, Gabe opens the locked drawer in his soul where he holds his most dearly-guarded secret. Simultaneously, he opens a private, encrypted folder on his personal computer, one never entered into Overwatch’s databases and requiring a retinal scan, voiceprint, and password to access.

Even his computer, in fact, is incapable of being connected to any network, wireless or otherwise. Its contents are too precious to trust to any such chance. Better these things be lost forever than exposed. He finds what he is looking for, then heavily, almost reluctantly, touches the screen to open the selected file. Then he is looking into Noah’s sweet, dear, achingly beautiful face. That voice echoes faintly in his ears once more.

_I am always with you, Gabriel. Always._

“Do you recognize him?” Gabe asks Jesse, who comes over in to inspect the image. 

On the screen is a picture of a younger Gabe, standing in the sunshine beneath the boughs of some lush, green trees. His left arm is around the trim waist of a young, smiling Jack, and his right arm is draped over the shoulders of a lithe, muscular young man with short black hair and pale skin. He is smiling, too, but something about his pouting lips and large, luminous grey eyes gives him the appearance of being distant, somehow. Out of place. Alone.

Jesse’s eyes widen and he lets out a low whistle. “Holy shit, boss, that him? You sure y’all was just friends?”

Gabe glowers. “Yes, we were friends. Do you recognize him?”

“I…I don’t know boss,” Jesse says. He squints and leans closer. “I can’t tell.”

“What do you mean, you can’t tell?” Gabe asks.

“I mean, you’d think I’d remember a face like that, sure as shit, but…” Jesse is quickly becoming agitated. He stands up and rakes a hand through his hair. “But I can’t…like…make it fit in my head right.”

“It’s ok, Jesse. You were really young when you saw him. Maybe your memory isn’t as clear as you think.”

“Come on, boss, gimme a little credit. I had the man’s face in my mind plain as day. But I can’t…I can’t remember it now. It’s like it went all blank all the sudden. The fuck does that mean?”

Gabe closes the file, more perturbed than before. It appears that this mystery is growing layers.

“I don’t know, Jesse,” he says, shaking his head. “Can you remember what happened when this man came to visit?”

“Yep,” Jesse nods. “All’s I lost is his face. I can remember everything else.”

“Well?”

“I was in the living room memorizin’ my bible verse for Sunday school and someone knocked on the door. I jumped up to run and get mama, but then this man just opens the door and saunters on in like he owns the place. I was squarin’ up to give him what-for, but mama come in dryin’ her hands with a dish towel and says real calm, ‘Jesse, honey, you know you ain’t supposed to open the door yourself.’ I remember thinkin’ it was strange, how she was talkin’ to me, but she was lookin’ at him. I said, ‘I ain’t opened it, mama. He just come in.’ She smiled real sweet and she said, ‘Well, it’s alright. Jesse, this is my friend Noah. I guess he wanted to give us a nice surprise by comin’ to visit.’ The man said it was a pleasure to meet me and he shook my hand and took a real long look at me. Then mama give him a big ol’ hug and they started up with the, ‘Oh, it’s so good to see you,’ and ‘It’s been such a long time,’ and all that boring grown-up talk, so I scooted off to watch TV in mama’s room.”

“Did you hear anything they talked about?”

“Naw, I didn’t. He musta stayed for a few hours, though, cause I fell asleep watchin’ Hondo on the noon matinee. Then mama come and woke me up and said it was time to wash up for dinner. I asked if her friend was gonna eat with us, but she said he only stopped for a quick visit on his way through town and he had to get goin’.”

Gabe leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “Fuck.”

He drums his boot on the floor and gazes thoughtfully into the middle-distance for a long moment.

“Ok,” he says. “We’ll keep working on this. But this is strictly between you and me. Don’t mention this man, by name or otherwise, to anyone but me.”

“What you thinkin’, jefe?”

“I think we might be using our family vacation for more than testing the waters between Jack and Ben.”

“So we got us a little case to work on together,” Jesse smiles, lighting up his big amber-brown eyes. “Alright, boss. Let’s get to it.”

 

 

 

Ben sits uneasily on a bar stool in a trendy restaurant down the street from his and Luisa’s flat. He and Jesse and Lulu have been here frequently, and the bartender calls him by name and makes friendly chit-chat. Italian food isn’t Ben’s favorite, but it’s good enough for a takeaway dinner at home by oneself. Besides, it’s a nice, familiar place. Close to home. He’s too afraid to go anywhere else.

He’s hidden the constant, humming anxiety and the spells of irrational fear from Jesse as well as he can. Luisa, too, though this has been easier since she’s nearly never at home anymore. This means that when Jesse is working, Ben is alone. When he is alone, the cold, gripping panic could spring on him at any moment. A too-familiar face in a crowd. A man looking at him too long as he passes him on the street. These things send him spiraling into senseless terror. 

A man in a grey business suit swaggers up to the bar and eyes him lasciviously. Ben ignores him and sips his cocktail without tasting it. He feels the sickening crack of his jaw being splintered as that disgusting ape’s huge fist hammers his face, over and over. His hands tremble. He feels those fat, hairy paws around his throat again and suddenly he can’t swallow. He stares into his glass until the business-suit man goes away. When the bartender comes back with the bag containing his order, he barely has enough voice to thank him before he escapes.

He steps out the door and stands under the awning for a moment, apparently buttoning the front of his black pea-coat, but really glancing warily up and down the street. There are plenty of people about, as usual. This neighborhood is full of popular bars and expensive boutique hotels. In the direction of his flat, a group of girls in outrageously skimpy evening-wear are walking arm-in-arm, talking boisterously, as young women who have been enjoying alcohol and each other’s company often do.

As they approach, one remarks on his looks in slurred French. This doesn’t bother him. He grins and says good evening as he passes them. This produces an explosion of giggles and overly exuberant wishes that he have a good night. He walks briskly up the street after that, watchful and alert, till his building is in view. He catches movement in the corner of his eye, and looks toward it.

There is a man leaning idly on the next building, about fifteen yards away. He is fit and sturdily-built, clean-shaven, dark skin, short, dark hair, medium height, maybe thirty-five or so. He is wearing a black t-shirt and blue-jeans and there is a tattoo partially visible just below the hem of one of the sleeves. Ben’s heart pounds in his throat as he draws nearer. The man is between him and the safety of his secure-entry building. It’s not just that he’s there, it’s that he seems to be watching him. Watching him and pretending not to.

Ben slows his pace imperceptibly, trying to get a grip on his rising panic. He gives a start as the door on the building bangs open. A pretty young woman, wearing far too much makeup and a very low-cut black gown, comes skipping out and throws her arms around the man’s neck, speaking to him in enthusiastic Spanish. Relief washes over Ben. He walks past the couple, smiling to himself as they greet each other with an almost lewd display of affection.

They happen to be going the same direction as Ben, and the young woman’s fawning, ridiculous chatter to her monosyllabic boyfriend entertains him from a few yards behind, till he turns up the walk to his front door. He glances after them and smiles again, as they continue up the street past his building. The woman has her hand in the man’s back pocket and is shamelessly squeezing his ass as they walk, after the manner of ardent young lovers.

Once Ben is safely within his own flat with the door locked, he feels ashamed of his hyper-vigilance and fear of public places. His assault had happened at work, in a place he’d thought was safe. Not out in the street. He chides himself for his cowardice as he scoops his pasta onto a plate, pours a glass of wine, and sets them on the coffee table. It’s the beginning of June, and it’s starting to get warm and stuffy in the flat. He tells the holovid to put on the news as he opens some windows.

He sits down on the couch and picks disinterestedly at his food, enjoying the cool, night air as the breeze flows in through the windows. The news anchor is talking about a string of bizarre deaths in Central America, previously thought to be the result of a virus, but now believed by authorities to be linked to a terrorist group. His ears perk up and he asks the holovid to increase the volume.

“…victims were all apparently healthy people who were found dead, without any outward sign of violence or trauma,” the woman is saying. “All of the fifteen victims who authorities say are associated with the case are reported to have been found in what appeared to be an advanced state of decomposition with, quote: ‘a grey, desiccated appearance to their skin and lacking significant body mass, despite having been seen alive and well by witnesses within days or even hours of their deaths.’ The UNCDM has reportedly ruled out any viral or bacterial pathogens, but sources close to Overwatch command tell us…”

Ben gets up and scrapes his food into the garbage, and puts his plate in the sink. His already weak appetite was no match for a story like this. He falls back into the couch and swallows his entire glass of wine. Then he breaks down in a fit of violent, shuddering sobs. He curls up on the couch with his back to the holovid and weeps bitterly, till he passes out from exhaustion.

 

 

 


	95. The Calm

“You know, you can take your hand off my ass now, Agent Silva,” Agent Vasquez says to his partner.

“I know I _could_ ,” she replies musingly. “But the question is, will I…?”

“You slut,” he grins.

“Just wait till I get you home,” she says, giving his ass a little swat as she pulls her hand out of his pocket. “We’ll see who’s the slut, then.”

“I knew I never should have married you. You’re sex crazed.”

“Yeah, yeah, you hate getting your dick sucked and having someone to pick up after your messy ass. You calling in?”

“Yep,” he says, tapping his phone’s screen.

He watches his partner balance blithely on one foot in a four-inch heel while she pulls the other off, then repeat the process as he makes his report.

“Hey Song, Vasquez and Silva reporting in. Subject got dinner and walked home. He’s safe inside. Yep. We’re going back in. Oh, and I’d like to report my partner for sexual harassment. Yeah, but I think I might be traumatized anyway. Hey Silva, Song says hi.”

“Hi Song,” she says, bending down to massage the arch of her foot, exposing a generous length of curvy, athletic thigh in the process.

“Ok, later,” Vasquez says into the phone. “Cover up those legs, woman! Do you have any shame at all?”

“Nope,” she rejoins. “I married you, didn’t I?”

They turn back in the direction they came, strolling toward the flat Commander Reyes has rented, in the building next door to Ben’s. Blackwatch agents stay there every night, keeping a protective eye on their young blonde asset, and tonight is their shift. Vasquez will do a perimeter sweep in a few hours, then Silva will do one more just before dawn.

“Hey, the kid looked real bad, don’t you think?” he says as they walk along.

“Yeah,” his partner says. “He’s too pretty to be so sad. It kind of breaks my heart. You know what happened to him?”

“No, but I bet you do, you little sneak.”

“We’re all sneaks, pendejo, we’re professional spies. Remember how I was on cleanup for that Greek kiddie perv?”

“Yes, mi amada, I dispatched you.”

“Well, that fat dead fuck beat up this kid like I’ve never seen. Like, just smashed his face. I saw a photo in Agent McCree’s report.”

“Shit. Well I’m glad he got his, then.”

“Yep.”

“What do they want the kid for anyhow?”

“Boy, you’re dumb. Thank god for that ass,” she laughs. “He looks just like papi güero. What do you think they want him for?”

“I see. Well, I guess he won’t need too much combat training, then.”

“They’re just gonna juice him anyway. So he probably won’t need a lot, no.”

“What, really?”

“If he’s gonna pass for Morrison? They’ll have to. Nguyen said the lab’s doing a workup on him too, so they must be planning on it.”

“I wish they’d do the rest of us. I saw Morrison take two fucking bullets in the shoulder and he didn’t even blink.”

“I thought those SEP guys could dodge bullets.”

“Cruz swears Morrison stepped in front of him and took the shots for him. Says he was sure he was a dead man and then the Commander just appeared standing there between him and the hostiles like fucking Superman.”

“Man, Cruz is full of shit. He says he saw a fucking ghost in there, too.”

“I dunno…” he trails off noncommittally.

“Madre dios,” she says, pausing at the door to their building. “Tell me you are not suggesting that you believe in ghosts, Santiago. Cause that’s grounds for divorce.”

“That place was fucking creepy, Juli. Old insane asylum and all. I’m just saying, you never know.”

“I’m just saying you need a psych review,” she says as she swings the door open. “Come on. Let’s get you out of those dry clothes.”

 

 

 

“Don’t worry,” Jack says. “They’re really just normal people. Well, I mean…normal for us.”

“What’s—uh, what’s normal for you?” Ben asks, sounding far more uneasy than he’d intended.

It’s been two hours and he’s still trying to steady his voice. Trying to forget that he’s sitting on an armed military aircraft talking to the most powerful man in the world like he’s some sort of normal human being who buckles his seatbelt and chats with people and drinks coffee. He’s actually drinking a cup of coffee. Strike-Commander Jack Morrison.

“I guess there is no real normal for us,” Jack says thoughtfully. “Unless abnormality becomes the norm. But that’s just shifting the standard of measurement so there’s a different normal and a different abnormal and then…” He trails off, seeing the mystified look in his companion’s eyes. “Sorry, Ben. I get bogged down in semantics pretty easily. All I meant to say was that Lord and Lady Oxton are really friendly and they aren’t scary at all.”

He’s smiling now. Not the broad, pasted-on-for-the-cameras, “thank you everyone for showing your support for this cause” bullshit smile, either. A soft, real, charmingly boyish smile, complete with the bashful tilt of the chin. It’s devastating.

Ben smiles back. “I guess I’ll take your word for it. But if they are scary, I’m holding you personally accountable for any emotional distress I suffer.”

“Fair enough,” Jack laughs. Then he leans closer to Ben and says under his breath, “That’s fifteen minutes, by the way. You owe me a drink.”

“Are you serious?” Ben whispers. He resists the temptation to turn and look. “They’re still doing it, huh?”

Across the cabin, in the row of seats facing Jack and his new friend, Commander Reyes and Agent McCree are seated beside each other. The fifteen minutes Jack mentioned referred to a little wager he’d proposed to Ben, when the young man had quietly brought to his attention the mesmerized stares of the two other men. Jack had said they keep staring for fifteen minutes and you buy me a drink, and Ben had accepted the bet. They are still staring and thus, Ben finds himself beholden to the Strike-Commander for one beverage of his choice.

“Well, can you blame them?” Jack says, arching a blonde eyebrow. “I mean, we are pretty gorgeous.”

“I guess we are,” Ben laughs. “But, hey, they’re not so bad themselves.”

“Jesse is very handsome,” Jack says. He is well-aware that despite their hushed tones, Gabe can hear every word they are saying. “Commander Reyes certainly _thinks_ he is. But I’m on the fence about him. He’s just ok looking.”

Ben grins. “No way you think that. I mean, come on. You admit Jesse’s handsome and he is Jesse’s dad.”

“Eh, I guess you’re right,” Jack shrugs. “But he’s such an old man. Did you know he had no idea how to switch the language settings on a holovid? I had to tell him. Not when they were new, either. This was like, two months ago.”

 

“Boss,” Jesse whispers, leaning over to Commander Reyes. “What d’you think they’re talkin’ about?”

Gabe crosses his arms. “Jack was just saying how he’d like to sleep on the sofa for the foreseeable future.”

“That’s nice,” Jesse says distractedly. “Hey, boss…you ever wonder what it’d be like if they—”

“No, and neither have you. Fuck’s sake, Jesse. That’s my husband.”

“Yeah, but look at ‘em, boss,” Jesse pouts. “It’s like twins, only they…uh…ain’t related.”

“Don’t think that hasn’t occurred to me,” Gabe mutters, shifting slightly in his seat.

“If you two are going to be disgusting, could you please wait until after we have landed,” Angela chimes in, from her seat on Jesse’s other side. “I would prefer not to hear about your twin-Jack fantasies while I am trying to work.”

“Sorry, nana,” Jesse says contritely. “I’ll be good.”

Gabe ups the ante with an unapologetic grin. “Yeah, sorry nana. We’ll be good.”

“Love you, nana,” Jesse raises.

“Yeah, we love you, nana,” Gabe sees.

“Oh…bother with the two of you,” Angela huffs, doing her best to look displeased. But she isn’t quite able to hide the pretty blush that rises into her cheeks at the expression of familial fondness. “Jesse, my dear, if you are through ogling your commanding officer, why don’t you go and chat with Fareeha. I need to speak with your father about something.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jesse says cheerfully, hopping up from his seat.

Angela smiles as she watches him amble toward the back of the jet and drop into a seat near Captain Amari and Fareeha, then she moves into the spot he has just vacated, beside Gabe.

“Gabriel,” she says, setting her tablet down. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sitting in a jet watching my husband flirt with a younger version of himself,” Gabe says. “Honestly, this better be important, because I really don’t want to miss any of it.”

Angela sighs. “Gabriel, why is that boy here?”

“You know why he’s here.”

“I know why you say he is here.”

“Angela…” Gabe says, tapping his foot impatiently.

She lays her silky white hand on his arm. “Gabriel, you cannot make Jesse love Ben simply by throwing them together. It does not work that way.”

“I’m not…doing that,” Gabe replies lamely. “I want Jesse to be happy. Ben seems to make him happy. And he’s literally perfect for this job. Look at him. He could be Jack’s kid. Wait…he’s not, is he?”

“You are very funny, Gabriel. He does not look so much like Jack to me as you all seem to think,” she says, glancing across the cabin at the two blondes. “But I do not see faces the way other people do. I suppose he shares enough of Jack’s generally recognizable characteristics to be mistaken for him at a distance. But any competent geneticist could tell you that they do not have much common ancestry.”

Gabe eyes her cagily. “Ok, Angela. Spit it out.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re usually a lot more focused when you’re lecturing me. What’s wrong?”

She tosses her blonde curls and clears her throat. “If you must know, I am not particularly relishing the idea of this visit, now that it is a reality. There are certain things that will naturally enter into the conversation that will be…painful for me. I do not wish to make a display of my emotional—”

“Hey, Angela,” Gabe says covering her soft little hand with his large, calloused one. “You’re a parent who lost a child. Stop being so fucking hard on yourself, ok?”

She blinks up at him with her large, long-lashed, pale-blue eyes. “I—thank you, Gabriel. That is…uncharacteristically kind of you.”

“I’m turning over a new leaf,” Gabe grins. “Come here, nana.”

Before Angela understands what is happening, Gabe has got his arms around her and is drawing her toward him. Having never been embraced by this man in all the decades they have known each other, she is not quite certain how to react.

“Gabriel, have you lost your mind?” she demands, stiffening up and trying to pull back. “What are you doing to me?”

“I’m hugging you. Shut up.”

“Oh,” she says, quickly changing from rosy to absolutely pink.

She surrenders rather awkwardly to the embrace and pats his shoulder as he releases her.

“I do not know what has gotten into you, Gabriel,” she says, straightening her hair. “You are in quite a—oh, for god’s sake, they are already trying on one another’s clothing.”

Gabe looks across the cabin. Sure enough, Jack is holding Ben’s pea coat as Ben puts on Jack’s leather jacket. It is a couple of sizes too large for Ben, as Jack is several inches taller and a good deal broader in the chest, but it still suits him rather well.

“Gabe,” Jack calls out, pointing to Ben. “Look. Parent Trap!”

“Jack, don’t you dare put on that coat,” Gabe calls back. “It’s way too small for you.”

“It’s not that small,” Jack says. He slides the coat over his shoulders with some minor difficulty. The sleeves don’t come all the way down over his wrists and he finds his movement uncomfortably restricted. “Ok, maybe it’s…a little too small. But my jacket doesn’t look too bad on Ben, right?”

“Of course it doesn’t,” Gabe says. “Nothing looks bad on Ben. Now take that off before you rip out of it like the Hulk.”

“I was about to,” Jack retorts, turning around so Ben can help him peel it off.

Gabe turns back to Angela. “They picked him. Over me. The guy having a fashion show on the military aircraft with his stepson’s boyfriend.”

“Well, Gabriel, you did tell Under-Secretary Adawe to go fuck herself.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Twice.”

“If she’d have taken that advice the first time, I wouldn’t have had to offer it again,” Gabe grins. “Besides, that’s not why I didn’t get it. She likes men who stand up for themselves.”

“She does, indeed,” Angela says archly. “She is a good woman who understands the value of power. Speaking of which, you and Jack will be expected to go and visit the queen while you are here.”

“I know, I know,” Gabe grumbles. “When?”

“I do not know when, but I am sure Reginald has already arranged it.”

“He would, that traitor. Why don’t you have to go? You and the big Q still not seeing eye to eye?”

“Her majesty and I remain…on less than cordial terms. I do not expect I will have been invited.”

“So you get out of a long, boring state visit because you managed to piss off the queen of England twenty years ago.” Gabe scratches his goatee ponderingly. “Maybe I’ll tell _her_ to go f—”

“Gabriel, please do not make trouble for Lord Oxton,” Angela says. “He does not need added stresses at his age.”

“That crafty fucker,” Gabe laughs. “No one’s nice to me just because I’m old. He’s got it all figured out.”

Just then, the pilot announces their final descent over Oxton Park, and asks that the passengers be seated. Angela moves back to her seat and Jesse returns to sit with his father. Jack and Ben haven’t left their seats since the coat-swapping and are engaged in intense conversation, apparently oblivious to much that is passing around them.

Jesse leans over to Gabe. “Looks like they hittin’ it off, then.”

“It does,” Gabe says.

“Hey, pa…could you ask Jack not to, y’know…fuck my boyfriend?”

Gabe smirks and leans back in his seat.

Jesse laughs uneasily. “But for real, though, could ya?”

After a long pause, Gabe says, “We’ll see.”

“Aw, come on, jefe,” Jesse says petulantly. “That ain’t nice at all.”

 

As the door of the aircraft slowly lowers, Jesse finds himself looking out across a huge, plush, green lawn at what appears to him to be some kind of fairytale castle. Not nearly so enchanting as that Japanese castle by the sea, but magnificent in its own right. An army of black-suited and frocked domestic attendants waits to carry the guests’ luggage and things to their rooms.

At the end of the lawn nearest the house, there is a slim, beautiful, brunette woman who looks to be about forty, holding a squirming, auburn-haired toddler with enormous hazel eyes and a sprinkle of freckles across her button nose. Beside the woman stands a much older gentleman, a few inches shorter than her, with thinning charcoal-grey hair, and whose entire appearance radiates stately tranquility. Ben takes Jesse’s hand and holds it tightly as they follow Jack and Gabe down the ramp.

“Jackie, my love!” the woman calls out, in a posh, husky British twang. “Gabey baby!”

She sets the toddler down and follows as her daughter darts forward on stubby little legs. The tiny girl almost barrels headfirst into a tower of Gabe and stops short, staring up at him wide-eyed. As the woman draws closer, she pauses and surveys the company with a radiant smile.

“Well, well, well,” she says. “Look at all my gorgeous babies. Jackie get over here and give me a kiss, for fuck’s sake.”

She holds out her arms and Jack obliges, beaming like a thousand-watt bulb as he kisses and embraces his old friend.

“Lydia, it’s so good to see you,” he says fervently, pressing her hand.

“It’s always good to see me, darling,” she rejoins, with a cheeky wink. “Now, where’s my Gabriel! Give him to me!”

Gabe is still standing there smiling down at his diminutive roadblock. The girl pulls a ferocious grimace, puts her little fists squarely on her hips, and kicks Gabe hard in the shin with her miniature, mary-jane clad foot.

“I don’t like you!” the tiny British voice squeaks, setting the entire company laughing, except her mother, who scoops up the erring petal and deposits her in Jack’s waiting arms.

“I don’t think she likes me, Lydia,” Gabe laughs. “I’m not sure, though. She was unclear on the subject.”

“Lena, don’t say you don’t like your uncle Gabe,” Lydia says, with a sly smile. “Not until you get to know him and you’re sure of it. Come here this instant and give me my kisses, Gabey!”

She flings her slender, graceful arms around Gabe. He squeezes her affectionately in his large, heavy ones as she peppers his cheeks with kisses.

“Ana, Fareeha, it’s so lovely to have you, darlings,” she says embracing both women warmly. “My dear Dr. Z, it’s been far too long. How is it that you look younger than me now? I call foul play!”

After she receives each guest, they walk on to greet Lord Oxton, the older man who’d been standing with her as they disembarked. Last, she comes to Ben and Jesse.

“Who have we here,” she says, raising an eyebrow. She turns to where Jack and Gabe are chatting with Reginald. “Jackie! Gabey! I’ve got dreadful news. You’ve been replaced. I’m already in love with a new pair of gorgeous boys.”

Jesse respectfully removes his hat. “Howdy, ma’am, it’s real nice to—”

“Oh, no you fucking don’t!” Lydia laughs. “I won’t be ma’amed by my own little baby nephew! It’s auntie Lydia my love, always always always.”

She takes Jesse firmly in hand and kisses him on both cheeks, pushes his hair back from his face and gazes adoringly at him, in that tenacious, tender way only elder female members of one’s own family can.

“You are…very much your father’s son,” she says, with a hint of a tear in her eye. “I am so pleased to meet you, Jesse.”

“I—uh, thank you ma—uh, auntie Lydia,” Jesse sputters bashfully, flushing crimson to the ears.

“And look, it’s all I’ve ever wished for. A littler, prettier Jackie to keep right up on my mantle!” she says, embracing Ben heartily. “You must be Ben. Thank you for coming, my dear. You must call me auntie Lydia, as well. How was your flight?”

She hooks her arm into Ben’s and makes lively small-talk with him as the company begin to stroll toward the massive, Elizabethan manor house.

“Alright, house rules everyone,” Lydia calls out as they step inside. “Augmented humans tune down your hearing out of respect to others’ privacy, and unless you want to hear me and my dear pug” —blowing a kiss to Reginald— “making mad, passionate love all night. Also, try not to discharge any firearms inside the house. It does tend to fluster the staff.”

Despite her adverse opinion of her uncle Gabe, little Lena seems to be absolutely taken with her uncle Jack. As he carries her inside, she pokes his face, tugs at his pale-blonde hair and asks him where his blue clothes are, like he wears on the holo. He is quite taken with her, as well, kissing the top of her little auburn head, twirling her around, and telling her all about Overwatch, a subject which seems to have inexhaustible interest for her, despite the fact that she in no way comprehends any of it.

Beneath Jack’s sunny enthusiasm, however, is a growing sense of alarm. They had not been able to bring Zenyatta with them, due to Reginald’s position in the government and the tense state of affairs in England regarding Omnics. He feels with dead certainty that he will regret this sorely. He knows when the spells are coming on, the way animals know when an earthquake is coming. If his prior experience is any indication, this one is going to be a proverbial big one. He needs to warn Gabe soon.

“Hey, where are the Colonel and Andreev?” Gabe asks, as Lydia pours him a glass of scotch. Reginald has gone out to show Ana and Fareeha the rose garden, so she is acting as bartender.

“Papa and uncle Alex live in the dower house,” she says. “It’s a few minutes walk from here on the other side of that little pond. They’ll be over shortly. You know how they like to make an entrance.”

“What’s a dower house?” Jack says, looking up from where he is sprawled out on the drawing room carpet, helping Lena examine the contents of his wallet.

“Oh, it’s some dreadful old custom about noblemen’s widows being turned out of the manor after the husband’s death and needing a roof over their heads,” Lydia says, handing a glass of whiskey to Jesse. “So these big guest-homes got built on the land for them to basically die in. It’s a lovely house, though. Ben? Whiskey?”

Ben is saying no, thank you, when an old, familiar voice comes echoing down the spacious, high-ceilinged hallway and in through the open drawing room doors.

“Lydia!” it booms jovially. “Where you hidin’ my boys!”

Jack jumps up instinctively and even Jesse stands a little straighter, as the source of the voice enters the room.

The old colonel is now truly old, indeed. His weathered, handsome features have not become less handsome, but they have grown far more weathered and lined. His hair is a bit longer now and is entirely grey, as is his still neatly-trimmed beard and moustache. His posture and bearing have hardly changed, however, and he only seems to move a little more stiffly than he had decades ago. His eyes are piercing, intense, and brilliant green as ever, and they zero in on Jesse instantly. He stops and takes a long look at him.

“Evelyn’s boy,” he says at last. “That’s Evelyn’s boy, sure as I’m standin’ here.”

“Yes, sir,” Jesse says. He steps forward bravely and shakes the colonel’s hand. “I’m Jesse. Jesse McCree.”

“I know you are, son,” the old soldier says, his craggy voice wavering with emotion. “I’m your mama’s daddy.”

“Yes, sir,” Jesse says, not knowing what else to say. Those sparkling green eyes are focused on him so intently, that he feels as if he’s being looked _into_.

“I been waitin’ a long time to meet you, son. We got some catchin’ up to do. But I’d like to say hello to the other boys, too. We’ll talk some more later, alright?”

“Yes, sir,” Jesse says again, feeling rather numb and stupid.

“Jackie boy, Gabriel,” the colonel says, turning to greet his old friends. “Lot of years and a lot of changes since we saw each other last. I was just thinkin’ about—god damn it Aleksei, get your ass in here. Quit lurkin’ in the door like a sneaky fuckin’ Russian spy.”

The others look toward the door, realizing that Commander Andreev has been standing there quietly observing, in that way he’d always had of passing unnoticed when he chose to, and that familiar hint of a smile on his austere, angular face. His close-shorn hair is entirely snow-white now, but it is as thick as ever, and his ice-blue eyes are as keen as the old colonel’s. He steps in smoothly and shakes hands with Gabe and Jack, then Jesse and Ben.

“Tom, you’re wearing your outdoor coat still,” he says. “Let me take it for you.”

“Alright, you old hen,” the colonel grumbles. “Gimme a second to get myself situated, will ya?”

“Oh, papa, you be nice,” Lydia says, kissing the colonel’s cheek. “No grumpy old bear in front of the guests. Let uncle Alex take your coat and I’ll pour you a scotch and soda.”

Jesse feels Ben’s hand slide into his and they fade gratefully into the background, content to sit on one of the sofas and let the older people catch up with each other. After a while, they are able to quietly slip outside for a cigarette.

Ben accepts the one Jesse holds out to him and leans on the stone balustrade, beside the steps leading down into the garden. Jesse lights another for himself and draws on it slowly, exhaling a long, thin stream of white smoke and gazing at it as it twists and whirls away.

“How you doing?” Ben asks.

Jesse shrugs and takes another drag.

“Jesse, listen, I feel like I shouldn’t be here. I’m sorry for intruding on this. It must be really hard for you to—”

Ben’s sentence is cut short by the hot, urgent press of Jesse’s mouth against his, pushing his lips apart, plunging in and searching with his tongue. He moans softly into the kiss as Jesse’s hard cock grinds against his hip, sending all his blood rushing suddenly to his head. Jesse laughs low, like a growl and shoves his hips forward again, just in the right spot to make Ben’s breath catch in his throat.

He must hear someone coming, because he pulls away abruptly and goes right back to his cigarette, calm and cool as before. Ben just has time to wipe his mouth and smooth his tousled hair, when the door opens, and Fareeha comes out.

“Hello Jesse,” she says. “Hello, Ben. The grown-ups are talking about wars and politics in there. Is it alright if I hang out with you guys for a bit?”

“Course it is, fairy queen,” Jesse grins affably. “We scooted for the same reason. Ain’t no livin’ with the old folks once they on about old times.”

“How was the rose garden?” Ben asks. “I hear Oxton Park has one of the best in the UK.”

Fareeha shrugs. “It was nice, I guess. I don’t care much for gardens. My mother thinks I am interested in those things, so she wanted Lord Oxton to show us.”

Ben smiles. “Moms are kind of like that, huh? Always telling you what you like?”

“Yeah,” Fareeha says, brightening up a little. “My mother is very much like that. I didn’t want to wear a dress, you know. She made me. And she picked it out. I hate pink.”

“But you look so darn pretty in it,” Jesse pretends to pout. “What would I do without my little pink flower girl to sweeten up the day?”

“Does that work on girls your age?” Fareeha says, cocking an eyebrow. “Because it’s pretty lame, Jesse.”

“Aw, you cut me deep, darlin’,” Jesse says. He lifts his hands as if preparing to grapple her. “Now I’ma have to get ya.”

“No, Jesse!” she yelps, hopping back. “I am not little anymore! If you make people see my underpants now, it will be inappropriate!”

“Underpants?” Ben says. “Jesse, what were you doing to her?”

“Jesse used to think it was very funny to pick me up and put me over his shoulder like a sack of rice. People could see my underpants and it was very embarrassing.”

“Jesse! You bad boy!”

“I had to find some way to tame this little rapscallion,” Jesse says, tousling her shiny, black hair. “She’s a criminal and a menace, Ben.”

“Jesse is the one who was a criminal and a menace,” Fareeha retorts. “Don’t listen to him.”

“Oh, I know it,” Ben says. “I’ve seen his tattoos.”

Fareeha raises her eyebrows. “Tattoos, plural? You have more, Jesse?”

“I sure do, fairy queen,” Jesse winks. “But nowhere you’re gonna see ‘em.”

“Ew. I think I’ll go back inside now,” she says, wrinkling her little nose. “Boys are very gross.”

Ben laughs. “We sure are, Fareeha. Don’t you forget it. Boys are the worst.”

As if to prove the point, the moment the door shuts behind her, Jesse is dragging Ben down the steps and leading him away into the garden. The sun is still above the horizon and the day is miraculously clear for Kent in early June, but the high hedgerows and massive oak trees make perfect cover for two amorous adventurers.

Jesse pushes Ben’s back against the broad, smooth bole of one such obliging oak, and ravages his mouth again, licking and sucking on his pouting, kiss-bruised lips and thrusting against him through their pants.

“Jesse, wait,” Ben laughs, as Jesse undoes his fly. “We don’t have any lube or anything.”

“That’s ok darlin’,” Jesse says, voice heavy and thick with desire. “I’ma fuck you like this.”

He eases Ben’s cock out, hitching the waistband of his underwear behind his balls. He does the same with his own. Ben shudders as Jesse’s big, hot hand wraps around their cocks, squeezing them together.

“Spit,” Jesse says hoarsely.

Ben cranes his neck and lets a long, clear stream of drool drizzle onto their cocks. Jesse does the same, slicking their cocks with it as best he can. Then he holds his fist tight and steady, and fucks Ben into the trunk of the tree, rutting into his spit-slicked fist like a wild animal. Ben moans and shakes. He doesn’t even have to thrust at all with the raw, wet friction of Jesse’s shaft beating against his this way.

He looks down to watch as thick, glossy beads of pre-ejaculate leak out of the ruddy heads of their cocks, making the slide between them slippery and sensitive. Jesse fucks harder and faster, pumping his fist as he does, driving Ben headlong over the edge. He lunges forward and bites into Jesse’s shoulder to muffle the sharp cry as his cock spurts hot come all over Jesse’s hand and Jesse’s cock.

Jesse keeps going, covering Ben’s mouth with his mouth, swallowing his little whines as he twitches and writhes with the scorching, electric sparks of overstimulation. Ben works his hands up between their chests and pushes him away. Jesse has less than a second to be bewildered before Ben is on his knees, head back against the tree, jaw slack and pliant, sucking Jesse’s cock like he needs it. Jesse growls and braces himself on the tree with both hands, fucking Ben’s wet mouth with rapid desperate thrusts.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he pants. “I wanna come in this pretty mouth. Swallow it all, baby, ok?”

Ben opens one eye and gives a thumbs-up. Jesse cups his hands behind Ben’s head so it won’t knock against the tree and pounds his throat till the taut, aching bubble of tension bursts and he pours himself down it, draining his swollen balls in a dizzy torrent.

He gasps and bucks as Ben sucks the come off his twitching dick, licking it all up and swallowing it eagerly. He rests his forehead on the tree and smiles down at him dreamily.

“You look wrecked, sweetheart,” he croons, playing with Ben’s pale, silky hair. “It’s a good look on you.”

Ben stumbles a little as Jesse pulls him up. Falls against him. Laughs and presses kisses into his skin as they fumble to button each other up, straighten each other’s hair and clothes, check for misplaced ejaculate. When they walk back to the house, definitely still looking like they just fucked and fully aware of it, Gabe is sitting on the stone balustrade smoking a cigarette.

“Dinner is in ten minutes,” he says with a knowing smirk. “You kids better go wash up. You look like you’ve been off…climbing trees.”

Ben flushes bright pink and hurries into the house. Jesse strolls after him, holding up his middle finger to his Commander as he passes through the door.

 

 

 


	96. The Storm

Claudia sits at Commander Reyes’ desk, anxiously drumming her fingers. She’s not entirely sure what she’s supposed to be doing, so she absently scrolls through the day’s reports. This lack of direction is mainly due to the fact that Commander Reyes had made her acting Blackwatch Commander in his absence by announcing in a staff briefing that he’d be leaving for a leadership exercise with the senior staff the next day, then calling out “Oh, and Claudia’s in charge while I’m gone!” as he’d walked out the door.

Thankfully, two of the more senior agents had stopped by first thing this morning with encouraging words and a lunch invitation. At noon sharp, Agents Vasquez and Silva arrive, and the three walk down to the mess together. Claudia still wears her blue uniform, as it simply hadn’t occurred to her to do otherwise, so she normally doesn’t attract much attention. This time, however, in the company of the two Blackwatch agents, things are very different.

Silva is wearing skin-tight, black motocross pants and a black tank top that displays her fit upper arms very well. Her long, curly black hair is pulled back in a low, loose ponytail, and she moves like a woman who knows exactly how good she looks. Vasquez is in black uniform trousers and a dark grey t-shirt, tight enough to show off his broad, athletic shoulders and flat stomach, and short enough at the sleeves to expose a bit of the tattoos on both his upper arms.

Claudia immediately notices the stares they get as they enter the mess. She suddenly feels as if she’s in a scene from a high-school film, and they’re the wrong-side-of-the-tracks kids who have just entered the cafeteria to the strains of some guitar-heavy rock song. She had been one of the wrong-side-of-the-tracks kids all through secondary school, so this instantly raises her hackles. She finds herself walking with a smirk and more of a swagger than usual, almost daring the “normal” kids to say something. Maybe it’s time to toss the old blue uniform and start dressing like an adult.

As they sit down with their trays at a little round table, Claudia takes two bites of her salad, then blurts out, “Guys, I have no idea what I’m doing. Please help me.”

“You’re doing fine,” Agent Silva laughs, patting her shoulder. “The real secret is that the unit pretty much runs itself. We all know what we’re supposed to be doing, and we wouldn’t try to get away with anything just because you’re new. That’s not how you build trust with your team.”

“Yeah, like, we fuck around and talk shit to each other all the time, but we’d never leave one of our own out to dry for something we did,” Agent Vasquez says.

“That’s cool that you guys are so loyal,” Claudia says, nervously stirring her straw about in her iced tea. They both got coffee. Maybe she should’ve got coffee.

“We have to be,” Silva says. “There are a lot fewer of us, so everything we do affects the rest of the team a lot more than it does for the blues. We don’t fuck each other over, and we look out for each other.”

“I do like that the team is so much smaller,” Claudia says. “I didn’t even know half the people I worked with at the Paris bureau and I doubt any of them would have covered my ass if I fucked up.”

“Probably not,” Vasquez says. “The blues are all about falling in step and staying in line.”

“That’s what burns my ass about them, too,” Silva says. “They treat us like we’re the dirtbags, because the boss doesn’t make us follow uniform regs or do dog-and-pony shows at the UN, but we’re way more professional than those circus clowns.”

Vasquez nods. “And we actually have working brains and don’t need a babysitter to tell us to show up to work on time.”

“Exactly!” Silva says emphatically. “One of the blues can decide get drunk and show up late for guard duty the next day and what happens? Someone has to stay on watch a little longer and they probably get chewed out by their CO, right? If one of us fucks up, people die. Our people. So, we do our fucking jobs.”

“Plus, you get cussed out by Commander Reyes once, you’ll basically cut off your own dick to avoid ever going through it again,” Vasquez says, laughing mischievously.

Claudia assumes there must be something he finds particularly funny about this idea, but she doesn’t quite understand what that might be, so she smiles politely and takes a sip of her tea. Silva notices her perplexity, however, and smacks her husband’s arm.

“She doesn’t get it, pendejo. Plus, no one thinks that’s funny but you.” She turns to Claudia. “I’m trans. I had my reassignment surgery after we started dating, and my husband thinks it’s very funny to make jokes about why I did it.”

“It _is_ pretty funny, baby,” Vasquez says, still chuckling.

Silva rolls her long-lashed brown eyes. “He called them no-dick jokes once. To my face.”

Claudia leans forward and lowers her voice conspiratorially. “He knows they don’t literally cut it off…right?”

“This fuck knows more about it than I do,” Silva says, giving her husband a playful jab with her elbow. “When I told him I decided to do it, he dove in and researched everything he could find. He just likes to be a twelve-year-old about it now it’s done and he’s not so worried.”

“What made you so worried?” Claudia asks. “I mean, the advancements in biotechnology have made it a lot safer and easier on the patient, compared to the old days.”

“I know all that,” Vasquez says, taking his wife’s hand and kissing it. “But when you finally meet the person you know is _the one_ , and they’re about to have a major surgery, it’s hard not to get paranoid about complications and stuff.”

“He was giving himself anxiety attacks about post-op bleeding and nerve damage and all that shit, so I told him to stop freaking out and just let the doctors do their thing, or I wouldn’t marry him.”

“Yeah, and that’s how she proposed, by the way,” he laughs. “We hadn’t even talked about getting married yet.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” she grins.

“God damned right,” Vasquez says. “You can’t just let an ass like that walk away.”

“Oh, that’s something else about the boss and the way he runs things,” Silva says to Claudia. “He hand-picked all of us and he treats us pretty much like family. He knew Sunny and me were together, so he gave him paid leave to take care of me during my recovery.”

“Wow,” Claudia says, genuinely impressed. She’d known Commander Reyes cared about his people, but she had always imagined that he kept himself more distant from them socially. “That’s…really cool.”

“Yeah, he’s pretty great,” Vasquez says. “That’s why no one goes back to the blue team once they’re here. Morrison doesn’t even know his people’s fucking names, let alone care what they’re going through personally. He’d never have given me time off to help my girlfriend recover from surgery.”

Claudia doesn’t think this is at all true, nor particularly fair to Commander Morrison, but she keeps it to herself.

“No one who joins Blackwatch goes back to Overwatch?” she asks, by way of shifting the conversation.

“Captain Torres did, actually,” Silva says. “But he’s the only one so far. And he didn’t come from Overwatch in the first place.”

“He didn’t?”

Vasquez shakes his head. “Nope, the boss recruited him out of the Brazilian Air Force. I think he left because the blues have a lot more promotion opportunities than we do. He’s probably angling for a political job.”

“Commander Reyes recruits from outside Overwatch?” Claudia asks. Today is turning out to be quite educational for her. “I thought Agent McCree was a unique case.”

“Well, yeah, Jesse is the first guy we’ve forcibly conscripted,” Vasquez laughs. “But almost none of us agents came from the blue team.”

“The soldiers all come from Overwatch,” Silva explains. “The boss handpicks them too, but the agents are all his own hires from outside.”

“Well, I guess…except me,” Claudia says awkwardly. “I hope you guys won’t hold it against me, though. I pretty much wanted to work for Commander Reyes my entire life.”

Silva laughs heartily at this and pats Claudia’s hand reassuringly. “Of course we won’t! Anyone with enough balls to cuss out the boss in front of papi güero is ok with us!”

It takes Claudia half a second to comprehend the target of the nickname, then she laughs. “I am such an ass. I still can’t believe I did that.”

“Didn’t seem like Morrison was too mad about it,” Vasquez says. “It kinda seemed like he was impressed.”

“I hope so. I guess he would’ve said something to me if he thought it was out of line, though.”

“Maybe,” Silva shrugs. She looks sullenly down at her plate, skewering an olive with her fork. “I don’t ever know what to think of that guy. The way he treated—”

“Hush, Juliana,” Vasquez cuts her off gently. “Not now.”

“The way he treated…who?” Claudia asks, looking back and forth between them. She can’t imagine Commander Morrison treating a transgendered person with anything but absolute respect, but that is the only thing she can think of that Silva might be so upset about.

“I’m sure she’s figured it out for herself, Santiago. They’re barely even trying to hide it, at this point,” Silva says. “Oberkampf, Commander Reyes likes to pretend we don’t all know that him and Morrison have been fucking for years, but like, I’m honestly surprised the whole world hasn’t caught on. You already knew, too, right?”

“I…yeah, I did,” Claudia admits, though she doubts either of them suspect how very much more she knows than just this.

“See?” Silva says. “Anyway, I don’t know what went on between them, but whatever Morrison did fucked the boss up pretty bad. He’d get so fucking depressed sometimes…we thought he might try and off himself for a while. We didn’t want to say anything to the doc, because we figured it’d get back to Morrison, so we just kept an eye on him and tried to keep him busy.”

“He got a lot better after we picked up Jesse,” Vasquez says. “It was like night and day. We actually thought they were fucking—”

“For the record, some of us did not think that,” Silva cuts in. “The kid was seventeen. It would have been sick. And illegal.”

“Anyway, we figured out he was the boss’s kid, and then it all made more sense,” Vasquez continues. “Having his son back has done a lot for his emotional state. Plus, I think Morrison’s treating him better now.”

“He fucking better be,” Silva says fiercely. “Or he’ll have to deal with all of us.”

Claudia can’t help but be touched by the tenacious, heartfelt love and loyalty these people have for their Commander. As mistaken as they are regarding the exact details, they also seem to be astonishingly well-informed about his personal life.

“You guys know an awful lot about Commander Reyes,” she says cautiously. “Does he…know you know it?”

“Well, we are a bunch of professional spies, doc,” Silva laughs. “I don’t know if he knows for sure. I assume he does, but there’s no telling with the boss.”

“Yep,” Vasquez agrees. “He’s the hardest man to read I’ve ever met. And I’m an interrogator. Or—I was. That was my old job.”

“What did you guys do before?”

“Interrogation specialist for a PMC called Zero Risk Security,” Vasquez says. “Before that, I was US Army special forces.”

“I was a sort of…criminal of all trades,” Silva says. “Fraud, forgery, fencing hot merch, all of that. I got recruited into the FBI when they finally caught up to me, and after I did my mandatory service for them, I joined Blackwatch.”

“You just joined? How?” Claudia asks, mystified. “I never even heard of Blackwatch till I was out of OTC.”

“Oh, I’d never heard of it either,” Silva laughs. “I was thinking about signing on with the FBI for another couple years, but a month before my term was up, Commander Gabriel fucking Reyes showed up at my door and said he had an offer for me.”

“Holy shit, did you like…die?”

“Just about. I mean, the guy who actually saved the fucking world walks into your shitty apartment and offers you a job…it was wild. I think I said yes before he finished his first sentence.”

They continue to chat about their lives in general in this companionable manner, till lunch is over and Claudia returns to Commander Reyes’ office. She decides to catch up on her own work, since there is apparently nothing of his that must be done. She is skimming through her laboratory setup proposal, checking for any minute errors, when she hears the door opening and looks up, expecting to see one of the Blackwatch agents. Instead, she finds herself looking at what appears to be a teenaged boy in a blue Overwatch uniform that is far too big for him. He only gets the door open about a quarter of the way, when he sees her and gives a start.

“Sorry,” he calls out, in a high-pitched voice. Apparently he is a girl. “Janitorial! I’ll come back later!”

The door slams shut as Claudia leaps up and bounds for it.

“Bull fucking shit, janitorial!” she shouts, as she bursts out into the hall. “No cleaning staff are…”

She trails off and looks around. There is no one in sight. Not anywhere up and down the long, narrow hallway. She taps her foot.

“Athena,” she says. “Where is that person who was just here in the office?”

“Party is no longer on the premises of Swiss Headquarters, Acting Commander Oberkampf,” Athena chimes.

“Who were they?”

“Unknown, Acting Commander Oberkampf,” Athena replies. “No biometric data found.”

“What the fuck,” Claudia mutters. “Well how did they get in here?”

“Unidentified party has authorization to enter these premises, Acting Commander Oberkampf.”

“Ok, Athena,” Claudia says impatiently. “How can a person be unidentified, and still have authorization to enter this office?”

“There are forty-seven possible scenarios which may result in an unidentified party being in possession of authorization to access these premises,” Athena replies helpfully. “Would you like me to relay them, Acting Commander Oberkampf?”

Claudia rolls her eyes, “Yeah, Athena, I want to hear you list forty-seven scenarios that may or may not explain this situation.”

“Very well, Acting Commander Oberkampf,” Athena says. “Scenario one: missing data input in index BW-10171H. Scenario two: incorrect data input in index BW-101—”

“Alright, cut it out,” Claudia says, as she stalks back into Reyes’ office. “You know, I know you AI’s understand sarcasm.”

There is a slight pause. “Will there be anything else, Acting Commander Oberkampf?”

“Yeah, alert security that there’s a possible bogey on premises. And tell me if that person shows up anywhere on base again, ok?”

“Very well, Acting Commander Oberkampf.”

Claudia takes out her phone and looks at it. Her first instinct is to call the boss. Then she puts it away again. If she’s bothering him about every little thing like this, how can he trust her to be able to run the medical staff? No, she can handle this without calling the boss for help. Like a Commander. She knows security procedures for this kind of incident and she’s already begun them, so she continues to step 3: Inform Senior Command. She scans quickly down the list to verify who’s in charge right now, with most of the senior staff on their little getaway. She winces, then reluctantly taps the button on her desk phone.

“Athena, get me Chief Engineer Lindholm.”

 

 

 

Dinner at Oxton Hall proceeds in a very lively and agreeable fashion, with the old Colonel and Captain Amari swapping anecdotes about Jack and Gabriel’s antics before and during the Crisis, to the abundant hilarity of the other guests. The food is ample and excellent, and everyone seems to be in good spirits, including Angela, who even laughs aloud several times.

After the meal has been slowly consumed, the party moves to a large and comfortable sitting room, with glass doors all along the wall that overlooks the lake and gardens. Fareeha flops into a sofa as far from the adults as possible and buries her face in her phone, and Jesse and Ben step out to smoke on the terrace. The older people stand together chatting and sipping tea or after dinner cocktails.

It amuses Gabe how very carefully his old friends talk around he and Jack’s actual relationship to one another, out of consideration for the fact that not everyone in the room may be privy to the secret. Jack himself almost spills it once, stumbling awkwardly over his phrasing to the point where Gabe elbows him to stop him. Little Lena, who had resumed her place in Jack’s arms the moment dinner concluded, scowls and points a chubby finger at him.

“No uncle Gabe! Bad!” she scolds. “No hitting!”

“Yeah, Gabe,” Jack says. “Bad. No hitting.”

Captain Amari arches one of her perfectly-sculpted eyebrows and sips her tea, looking the two men up and down.

“I have a question for you all,” she says to the group. “I have known Jack and Gabriel for many years now. How long do you think it took me to figure out that they were sleeping together?”

Jack and Gabe gape at her, mouths open in dumb amazement, which produces a roar of laughter from their friends.

“Oh, I know this one!” Lydia exclaims. “The moment you saw them in a room together, right?”

“Exactly correct, Lydia,” Captain Amari says, smiling slyly. “So, why don’t we finally drop the act, shall we? We are family, after all.”

“Hear, hear,” the old Colonel supports heartily, raising his glass.

After Jack and Gabe recover (and explain to Captain Amari that she’s a rotten sneak and they’ll never believe she’s sleeping again, even if she snores), the conversation wanders agreeably from one topic to another, people talking all together or in pairs, and lounging in the many easy chairs and sofas placed about the room.

Fareeha pouts and tosses her head when her mother informs her that it is bedtime for little girls, but she says goodnight and follows her anyway, knowing she’ll never have the better of that argument.

“I think it’s about bedtime for my little lovey, too,” Lydia says, rising from her chair. “Oh, look, she’s got drool all over your shirt, Jackie.”

“It’s ok,” Jack smiles. “Can I carry her up for you? No point in waking her now.”

“Of course you can carry your little doll to the nursery, you big softie. Come on, I’ll show you where it is.”

Jack gets up carefully, making sure not to jostle Lena, then follows Lydia upstairs. Once in the nursery, Lena wakes and fusses, clinging to Jack’s neck and refusing to be put down. Lydia watches with a soft smile as he rocks and soothes her, cooing gently until she drifts off again. Then he lowers her into her crib and he and Lydia stand silent for a while, gazing down at the sleeping child. When his friend looks up at him again, she sees a tear on his cheek.

“Oh, Jackie, darling, what’s the matter?” she asks, reaching up to wipe it away.

“It was just…it hit me pretty hard just now, that I’ll never have this,” he says, waving a hand over Lena’s crib. His voice is low and strained. “Never have…my own children.”

Lydia lays her hands on his shoulders and turns him so she can look up into his eyes. She studies his face closely, with her intense, bright-green eyes.

“Jackie,” she says softly. “You don’t…have it all back yet, do you. Your memory.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “No, I don’t. We’re making progress, but there are still big…blank spots everywhere. Why do you ask?”

“I only wondered…” she trails off, looking at him oddly. “Nevermind. I do so want you to be happy, Jackie. Are you? Happy?”

“I don’t know,” he says, gazing down at Lena. “I don’t know if I remember what happy feels like. I’m…content. I love Gabe. He…he makes me happy. Yes. I’m happy with Gabe.”

“I hope you are. He loves you so much, darling.”

“He does. He doesn’t know, though. He doesn’t know what I—” he stops short and turns to her. “Lydia, you were my best friend. You are still my best friend, right?”

“Of course, Jackie, always,” she says.

“I need to tell you something. But Gabe can’t ever know it. No one can ever know it, but if I can’t tell you—I don’t know if I can live with it alone anymore.”

His manner is beginning to make her a bit alarmed, but she conceals it admirably.

“Anything, Jackie. Anything. You know your secrets are as safe with me as with yourself.”

“Lydia, I…when I heard about my family, and then—after I found out what I’d done—”

“I know, darling,” she says quietly. She takes his hand in hers and squeezes it. “I know you…tried to kill yourself. Angela called us.”

“No, no, I didn’t try, Lydia,” he says, in an almost feverish whisper. “I succeeded. I put my sidearm in my mouth and shot myself in the head.”

Lydia’s hand flies up over her mouth and she squeezes her eyes shut, as if she can reject the horror of what he is saying by shutting out his face.

“No,” she gasps, tears spilling down her cheeks. “No, Jackie, no, I can’t…I can’t believe this.”

“Lydia look at me,” he says. He takes both her hands in his and she looks up at him. “I killed myself. I died. I was brain-dead for…I don’t know how long, before Angela brought me back. I don’t even know how she did it. It shouldn’t be possible.”

“Jackie, this is so…so utterly horrid,” she sobs, dropping her head onto his chest. “My dear, darling boy. You must have been in such dreadful pain.”

He wraps his strong arms around her and holds her tightly against his chest. Despite her small, slender frame, he can feel the power in her body. Sense it, just by feeling her breath and heartbeat as she weeps for his sorrows. Lydia is like them, he reminds himself. A genetically enhanced super-soldier. She’d been just as strong as he was and certainly faster, back in those days.

“After I…woke up,” he continues, “I wasn’t me anymore. I was the Jack Morrison the CIA told the world I’d been. An SEP soldier and farmer’s son from Indiana. I spent ten years thinking my husband was an Army buddy and colleague who I enjoyed fucking sometimes. Gabe suffered all those years because of me. He suffered and it was my fault.”

“It wasn’t though,” she insists. “If your brain was half destroyed, what could you do about it?”

“It was. I did that to myself. I made him spend a decade of misery and uncertainty waiting and wondering if I’d ever come back to him, because I was a coward. I couldn’t face the—”

“No, Jackie,” she says sharply, pulling away to look up at him. Her green eyes flash. “I won’t stand for it. If you ever call yourself a coward in my presence, I will pick you up and toss you through the nearest wall. I can still do that, you know.”

He can’t help but smile as her fierce, steadfast affection warms his heart. Memories of those better, more innocent days flood into his mind. Training with the team, sparring in the arena together, making bets on who’d tap out first. Laughing and talking and fighting and doing everything together. A family.

“I dare you, then,” he says mischievously. “Toss me through a wall.”

“Don’t test me, darling,” she rejoins. “I will do it.” Then her smile freezes. “Jackie…baby, what’s wrong? Are you alright?”

Jack wants to answer her. He tries. But he can’t get a signal from his brain to his mouth. His head pounds as if it’s trying to split open. The pleasant stream of memory swells into a roaring torrent, screaming and howling in his ears and obliterating his consciousness. She springs forward, steadying him as he begins to stagger. He blinks down at her, ash-white and trembling, forces his mouth open, and drops like a dead weight.

 

 

 

Black. Blue. White. Red. Pain has colors again. Blue is the easiest to bear, but it weighs the most. Lasts the longest. White is agony. Red is rage. Black is mercy. Kindness. The empty space where nothing waits to rend his mind and reduce it to fragmented points of light. Millions of tiny points of light. Scattered to the wind and blown across the deep, black sea. Death.

He longs for Death. Courts it like a lover. Pursues it like a hunter. Dives down to find that it evades him still. The sea itself flees from his advance. Ever retreating, ever beckoning, just beyond reach. It rises far above him and blots the stars from the sky. A demon of smoke and water. The great black dragon of the sea. Then softly, it approaches. And softly, it sings. Come back to me. Come back to me.

Here I stand.

He reaches out his hand and the dragon is a man. A man clad all in black. The color of mercy. The color of Death. And Death calls him by his name. Claims him for its own. Takes him in its gentle embrace. Cloaks him in merciful shadow. And there is no more pain, no more blue, no more white, no more red. Only black. Only peace, and forgetfulness at last.

The storm bursts overhead, splitting the blessed blackness with bolts of searing, golden light. He feels Death shudder and withdraw, reluctantly, heavily. Releasing its own. Who it has called by name. He clings to it with all his strength. As he does so he grows stronger. Until Death has no longer any power to hold him. The man who is the dragon that is the sea that is Death turns away his face.

He begs. Prays. Entreats with every fiber of his being that it will not leave him again. Come back to me. Come back to me.

Here I stand.

But it has no power to hold him. His strong hands pass through it now, like a pillar of smoke and water. And it fades away. To return to the sea once more. To await its time to claim its own, who it has called by name.

And outside, the storm rages, and outside, the rebels storm the Winter Palace, and he is getting his memories confused with someone else’s again. He had a child. No. There was a girl. Someone else’s child. She spoke to him. She clung to him like Death. But he knows she is alive. He knows he is alive, because he feels pain. He feels strong hands holding his. Hears a man’s voice. Come back to me. Come back to me.

Death.

He opens his eyes and smiles. But it’s only Gabriel. Gabriel must be Death. This is absurd. A product of his fractured, tortured mind. Confusing what is his with what is not. Death belongs to him. Gabriel does not. No. Gabriel belongs to him. Death does not. It was Gabriel and not Death, who called him by name, and claimed him for his own.

He thinks he says hello, but what comes out is a rasping, monosyllabic whisper. Gabriel hears it and weeps. He is so sorry to see Gabriel weep. It makes him cry, too. Gabriel doesn’t understand. He thinks his beloved weeps for his own pain. He leaps upon him and kisses away the tears. Clinging to him like Death. Cloaking him in merciful shadow. No. Warmth. Gabriel’s body is warm. Heavy. He feels the weight of it and sighs. Then he can’t breathe in again.

“Gabe…” he says hoarsely. “You’re so…fucking heavy.”

“Jack, Jack, baby,” Gabe breathes, kissing him between every couple of words. “Jesus Christ, I was so worried, baby.”

“What…what happened? I can’t remember.”

“Lydia said you were putting Lena down for bed, and then you just fucking collapsed. She yelled for help and carried you in here, which woke up Lena of course, so the whole house was in a fucking chaos for a while. Angela just stepped out. She’s been here the whole time.”

“How long? How long was I out?”

“Like, three hours maybe? Reggie is having our guys bring Zenyatta.”

“But, the government won’t stand for—”

“You can try to argue with him if you want, Jack, but I wouldn’t recommend it,” Gabe says. “He already spoke to the queen. He said, and I quote, ‘God damn the House of Commons, I’m not letting a bloody war hero die in my house because of bigotry, Your Majesty.’ It was pretty spectacular.”

“Reggie is great,” Jack smiles weakly. His face is pale and clammy, and his blue eyes look tired. Older. “I’m sorry I gave everyone a scare, Gabe. I felt it coming on hours ago, but…I thought maybe it would pass. Sometimes it passes.”

“Any…memory or anything?” Gabe asks anxiously.

Jack shakes his head. “Nothing that makes any sense. I can’t understand it without Zenyatta.”

“Are you still in pain?”

“Yes,” Jack says, trying to conceal how very much pain. “A little.”

“I’m going to have Angela come and sedate you, baby. You shouldn’t have to suffer like this while we wait for him to get here. It’ll be a few hours.”

Jack wants to say no, but he’s too weak to open his mouth again. It hurts to breathe. He musters his strength and nods. Gabe kisses him once more and gets up to go fetch Angela.

How wonderful is Death. Death, and his brother Sleep. Maybe he should go to sleep. Maybe he’ll find him waiting there. Lie down with him, just a little while longer. Just till the storm passes.

 

 

 


	97. The Black Knight

Jack is vaguely aware of Angela coming in to give him an injection of something. After a while, the pain fades somewhat, but now he feels groggy and sick. Side effect of the incredibly high dosage necessary to sedate him. His enhanced senses are normally well under control, but now they’re playing havoc with his mind. Sometimes a footstep goes off like a gunshot. Sometimes he can’t hear words spoken to him directly.

He spots a mote of dust and watches it sail through the silver moonbeam pouring in through the window. Then he can’t focus on Angela’s face. This distresses him. She tells him to try to sleep. It’ll wear off in a little while. She goes away and then Gabe and Lydia are there. They are talking softly. The hiss of every ‘s’ and rasp of every ‘t’ cut into Jack’s skull like knives. He asks them to go away. He needs to rest. Gabe kisses his lips. Lydia kisses his forehead. He’s too weak to smile. Then they go.

Sleep, like death, evades him. When he closes his eyes the light is unbearable. So he opens them. Stares listlessly into the shadowy haze of room. The lamps have been turned down low, so as not to disturb him. This only draws his attention more acutely to the glowing square of moonlight on the comforter at the end of the bed, draped lazily over his feet and spilling onto the floor like a Salvador Dali clock.

He finds himself oddly comforted by observing its infinitesimal increments of motion. He doesn’t even hear the door open this time. He is busy with his moon watch. Clinking sounds beside his ear draw him irritably from his occupation. A servant. She is setting tea things on the table beside his bed. These English manors seem to be furnished around the singular purpose of making it convenient to take tea in every possible location in the house.

He tries to ignore her and return to his absorbed contemplation of the square of light. He finds that he cannot. She is fumbling nervously with things, making them clatter. She drops a spoon. He braces himself for the shattering report of the silver colliding with the hardwood surface. It doesn’t come. The spoon doesn’t hit the floor. Or of it does, it makes no sound. She apologizes anyway. Her eyes are big and round. He replies gruffly that it’s ok. Her eyes are too big. She looks cartoonish. She keeps staring at him.

He sighs. He doesn’t have the energy to be the Strike Commander right now. To hear the gushing admiration of some intruding civilian. To try to make her feel as if they made a personal connection. But he has no choice. With a herculean effort, he manages a smile. Pale and wan, but it seems to help. Her pretty young face lights up instantly. He braces himself again.

But she doesn’t drown him in a deluge of inane praise. She just helps him take the steaming teacup in his shaking hands. They are shaking too hard. He almost spills it. She deftly places her tiny hands on his big, rough ones and guides the cup to his lips. Like a nurse in an old movie. He sips his tea. It’s hot and aromatic and soothing. When he’s finished she sets the cup down.

“Thank you,” he says. 

She nods demurely.

“Why are you staring at me?” His voice is as rough as a gravel pit.

“You look so…different,” she says timidly.

He almost asks different from what, but he realizes that in his current state, he probably looks nothing like the Strike-Commander she’s used to seeing on TV.

“Well, the cameras do me a lot of favors,” he says in his hoarse grate.

“Cameras?” She smiles. “No, I don’t think the pictures do you justice at all, sir.”

She’s British. Of course she is. She’s a servant in an English household. Her voice shimmers and chimes like tiny bells. The sound doesn’t bother him. He finds it strangely refreshing, in fact. But her huge eyes are still focused with peculiar intensity on his face. He looks away and finds that his vision doesn’t tilt and spin when he does. His nausea is almost gone. It is entirely gone, in fact. Maybe the English are on to something with this tea.

“How are you feeling, sir?” she says.

“Headache,” he rasps. “Tea is helping.”

“Little more?” she offers.

He nods. They repeat the ceremony. She sets down the empty cup. His head feels clearer and less heavy than before. He breathes more easily. His chest rises and falls evenly beneath the dark-green bedspread. He watches the little wisps of steam curling into the air as she pours more of the golden-brown infusion from the pot into his white ceramic cup. He thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He takes the cup himself this time. His hands don’t shake so much. He drains it and sets it down again, only rattling the saucer a little.

“All done?” she asks.

“Yeah, thank you,” he says. Then he is gripped with a sudden fear that she’s going to go now, since he’s finished his tea. “But don’t—don’t go. Please.”

She smiles, big and bright. Like the moon. “As you please, sir.”

“Thanks,” he says stiffly. “It’s, uh…nice to talk to someone who’s not treating me like I’m dying.”

“Dying!” She giggles. A chirpy little giggle that makes him want to laugh, too. “Of an headache? I’ll wager you’re made of sterner stuff than that, sir.”

He smiles at the dropped ‘h’. “So you’ll stay and talk to me a while?”

“I’ll stay as long as I can, sir. What would you like to talk about?”

He casts about in his mind for a topic and comes up blank. He’s usually so good at making small talk with strangers.

“Oh, uh…” he clears his throat. Then he smiles sheepishly. “Sorry. I’m usually good at talking to people. I’m just too exhausted to think of anything to say.”

“That’s alright, sir,” she replies brightly. “I’m sure I can talk enough for both of us.”

He manages a croaky laugh. “That’s quite a talent.”

“Hmmm, what to talk about.” She bites her bottom lip and crinkles her little nose thoughtfully. “Oh! How about I tell you a story? Like a bedtime story.”

“A bedtime story?” he says doubtfully. “I don’t know about that.”

“Well, you are in bed, aren’t you?” she chirps. “Might help you nod off to sleep.”

“I suppose so.” He smiles indulgently. “Alright, then. If you want to tell me a bedtime story, I’d love to hear it.”

He reclines on his pillows and gazes at his patch of moonlight as she speaks softly, in her merry, twittering voice. She begins her tale with a (wildly inaccurate, as he thinks) description of Sun Wukong, the mythical Monkey King, who could leap halfway around the world at a single bound. This bleeds into a story of two great dragon guardians in an ancient empire. He thinks he must have been drowsing and drifting in and out, because somehow, the story has turned into a sort of chivalric tale about huge, armor-clad knights heroically defending a peasant village.

She is babbling some nonsense about a black knight and a fairy queen who could rain fire from the sky, and a sorceress who could bend light to her will, when an icy shiver begins at his feet, creeps up through his legs, and pools in the pit of his stomach. There at the end of the bed, exactly where it had been when she began her absurd epic, is the brilliant, silver patch of moonlight. It has not moved. Not a micrometer. He shudders.

The hallucinations have never been like this before. So real and vivid and physical. Never but that once. He looks up at her sharply.

She observes the change in his expression and stops short. “Sir? Is everything alright?”

“You’ve been telling me this ridiculous story for more than an hour,” he says tersely. “But the moonlight hasn’t shifted.”

She glances at it, then back at him.

“No time has passed,” he sighs. “You’re not really here.”

“I’m as here as I can be, sir,” she says quietly. “Will you hear the rest of the story?”

Her expression is so wistful and sad, he almost regrets his words. He has to remind himself you can’t hurt the feelings of a delusion.

He shakes his head. “No. No more.”

“Come on,” she insists, with a sweet smile. “It’s keeping your mind off the pain. And at least you know you won’t be wasting any time.”

He drops his head back onto his pillow, pressing his palms over his eye sockets to keep out the light.

“Fine,” he says wearily. “Tell me all the fucking weird shit my brain has made up to amuse itself.”

“The black knight,” she says, picking up the thread where she’d left off, “was the most feared and ruthless warrior in all the land. His banner was black and bore no emblem but a white skull. People said that when he slew his enemies in battle, he took their souls, too. He could not be killed by any weapon known to—are you listening, Jack?”

He lifts his head with a start at hearing his hallucinatory house-servant slip into such a familiar mode of address.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he growls. “You know I’m listening.”

“Good,” she chimes. “This is the best part. The black knight had a secret weakness. It was hidden so well, that he himself had forgotten it. But there was one who knew the secret. The lady of shadow. If one could find her, his secret could be revealed.”

He waits for a beat. Two beats. “Well? Does this story have an ending?”

“I’d like to tell you the end, but I—I’m out of time,” she says, with a half-hysterical little laugh. Then a note of urgency rises into her voice. “Remember the black knight with the white skull, and the lady of—”

Her voice stops. Simply shuts off mid-sentence, as if a switch has been thrown. Jack sits frozen, blinking at the empty space where she had just been. Then all at once, his stomach turns and his head spins and he curls into a fetal position, trembling and convulsing with white-hot agony. So much for the fucking sedatives. Zenyatta better hurry his shiny metal ass up.

 

 

The opening of the inner eye is first accomplished by closing the outer eye. Of course, since Omnics do not possess ocular orbs except by aesthetic choice, the “eye” here refers to the method by which they receive sensory input from the environment around them. An Omnic does not “see” by collecting reflected electromagnetic waves on a certain spectrum and translating them into an image in the mind. An Omnic “sees” by analyzing information collected at all times by multiple sensing mechanisms. Eyesight, however, is the method by which humans comprehend and relate to their world and thus, Zenyatta finds it to be the most useful analogue to his sensory system when communicating with them.

When he closes his outer eye, his inner eye sees the vast web of interconnected threads that form all of material existence on this plane. When he had first been awakened, this was the way in which he had experienced the Iris. His inner eye had opened and revealed to him the vast web of being, bright threads weaving and interweaving, connection upon connection, coiling out from the central source and stretching into eternity. The bonds between all things that _are_. The most intricate and beautiful portions of the web are those woven from the most varied threads. Love, loyalty, self-sacrifice, fear, sorrow, loss. The dark and the light together, creating a complex tapestry, the beauty of which astounds him.

The connections in this place are strong and many. The brightest and strongest among these are also those with the deepest darkness woven into their fabric. He meditates on the nature of dark and light, and on the balance of energy that forms the universe, as he allows the Iris to radiate through him. Commander Morrison lies pale and senseless in a large, four-poster bed. Gabriel Reyes sits beside him, holding him with his entire being. Their physical bodies do not touch, but their energy surrounds and permeates one another. This bond is strong indeed. And it bears deep black shadows of its own.

Commander Morrison’s suffering eventually eases. His mental turmoil calms. He is able to speak and understand. He is telling Gabriel Reyes what he can recall of his experience during his episode. He says that while he was under the effects of the sedative Dr. Ziegler administered, a female servant came in and spoke with him a long while. He speaks of the incident as a hallucination. Zenyatta does not think that this is the correct term for it, but he keeps his peace. It is not his place to intervene here.

“The hallucinations aren’t usually so friendly, Gabe,” Commander Morrison is saying. “It was a relief to have one just talk to me and help me drink some tea. But she kept staring at me. I asked why and she said I looked different. Then I realized I probably looked like a bag of smashed assholes and she had to be used to seeing me all shined and polished Strike-Commander on TV.”

“You thought she recognized you from TV. Your imaginary maid.” Gabe says, with smirk.

“No, Gabe, you ass,” Jack says. “I didn’t know she wasn’t real at that point. I didn’t figure it out till she was a long way into this absurd bedtime story she was telling me.”

Gabe’s smirk blooms into a grin. “You asked her to tell you a bedtime story, Jack? That’s very cute.”

“No, I asked her to stay and keep talking to me. She suggested the story.”

“So she told you a story. About what?”

“A lot of fucking fairytale nonsense,” Jack sighs. “I don’t think my brain is very good at narrative structure.”

“Fairytale nonsense like what?”

“Like…the Monkey King and some dragons and these knights heroically defending peasants from…something.”

“From the dragons?” Gabe offers. “That’s pretty standard folktale stuff.”

“No, not from the dragons,” Jack says musingly. “Though that would’ve made more sense.”

“Is that how you figured out she wasn’t real? Her story made no sense?”

“No, but it was because of the story. She started in about a fairy queen and a sorceress and a black knight—of course—and then I realized that while she’d been talking, which was for like, at least an hour, the patch of moonlight on my bed hadn’t moved at all.”

“And?”

“That meant no time had passed, Gabe,” Jack says impatiently. “So I stopped her and told her I knew she wasn’t really there.”

“What did she say?”

“She asked me to listen to the rest of the story.”

Gabe laughs. “Oh yeah? Stubborn-ass imaginary kids these days.”

“You’re telling me. Anyway, I figured I didn’t have much choice, and it was helping keep my mind off the pain, so I listened.”

“Well? How’d it all work out? Tell me she didn’t leave you on a cliffhanger.”

“Kind of,” Jack shrugs. “I mean, none of it made any sense, so there wasn’t a lot of dramatic tension. She started telling me about this black knight and how he took his enemies souls, and couldn’t be killed and so on.”

“How original,” Gabe says drily. “So what happened to this black knight? No, wait. I bet I know. Defeated by the white knight who married the white princess and all the white people lived happily ever after.”

“I wish it had been some pat, fairytale ending like that,” Jack says with a shudder. “But she got super weird after that.”

“Weird how?”

“Well she was saying how the black knight had a secret weakness that one person knew about, called—get this—the lady of shadow. If someone could find her, she could reveal his secret weakness.”

“That’s not that weird. Lots of fairytales have a witch or something who knows the key to defeating the villain. It’s very useful for wrapping up a convoluted plot.”

“It’s not weird, no, but the way she said it was. After she told me all that, she stopped to make sure I was listening, Then she got all panicky all the sudden and said she was out of time. She said ‘Please remember the black knight and the lady,’ and then she just fucking disappeared.”

“Yeah, ok. That’s weird,” Gabe admits. “I didn’t know hallucinations had such strict schedules.”

“You don’t think that sounds kind of ominous? My dream asking me to remember all that before it popped her out?”

“Yeah, it’s creepy as shit,” Gabe says, scratching his goatee thoughtfully. “But the subconscious metaphorizes general emotions into specific imagery in dreams. It sounds like your mind telling you that you’ve got some unresolved anxiety over something and you need to work it out.”

“That’s basically the story of my life,” Jack says glumly. “Thanks for nothing, subconscious.”

“What do you think, Zenyatta?” Gabe asks, turning to the tranquilly hovering Omnic. “Is Jack’s brain telling him to deal with his issues, or has he finally cracked?”

“The subconscious may be open to realities that the conscious mind would instinctively reject,” Zenyatta says serenely. “It may have been thus, and it may have been otherwise. The chances of this world are many and strange.”

“Perfect,” Gabe says, crossing his arms. “There’s your answer, Jack: maybe.”

“Thank you, Master Zenyatta,” Jack says politely. “Sorry Gabe is such an asshole.”

Zenyatta bows smoothly. “I find Gabriel Reyes quite agreeable. No matter which part of the anatomy he chooses to emulate.”

Jack bursts out laughing and Gabe sits there with his mouth open.

“I can’t fucking believe this,” he says, throwing his hands up. “I’m getting schooled in sarcasm by a floating toaster.”

“Well, you’re not as clever…as you think,” Jack says. His voice is suddenly heavy with drowsiness.

He yawns deeply and Gabe smiles. “You need to sleep, cariño. I’m going to go update Angela and let everyone know you’re ok. Zenyatta will stay with you, at least till I get back, ok?”

Jack nods sleepily, already beginning to doze in his fluffy pillows. Gabe kisses his forehead, bows to Zenyatta, and closes the door softly behind him. Downstairs, he finds the lights on, but no one about in the hall or sitting room. He is about to go in search of Angela, when he glances through the glass doors and sees Ben sitting on a stone bench outside.

“Hey Ben,” he says, as he steps out into the cool night air. “What are you doing out here all by yourself?”

“Smoking,” Ben grins, holding up his cigarette. “Don’t tell on me.”

“I won’t rat you out if you let me join you,” Gabe says. “But everyone here smokes, so I don’t think we’ll get in too much trouble.”

“Oh, I know. Karl used to get on our case about it at the Rawhide, though, so I’m used to sneaking.” He hands Gabe the blue box and a lighter. “Ana doesn’t smoke, though. And neither does Jack—uh, Commander Morrison.”

“He used to, once in a while,” Gabe says. “But that was a long, long time ago.”

“You guys go way back, huh?”

“Yeah,” Gabe says, exhaling a plume of smoke. “Way back. He was twenty-five when I met him.”

“Is he—” Ben begins, then breaks off. “How is he?”

“He’ll be alright. Zenyatta is taking care of him. Actually I came down to let everyone know he’s going to be ok. Where did they all go?”

“Ana went to put Fareeha back to bed,” Ben says. “Lord and Lady Oxton went upstairs, but I don’t know where. Jesse and Dr. Ziegler went into the study with the white-haired guy and Colonel Lawrence. He said he wanted to talk them about something.”

“And they just left you by yourself?” Gabe frowns. “That seems rude.”

“Oh, no, they didn’t. I went up to our room to go to bed. I couldn’t sleep, though, so I came back out here to smoke. I’m not used to being on a daytime schedule.”

“A man after my own heart,” Gabe says, taking a seat on the bench beside him. “I’ve spent a lot of hours sitting and smoking while normal people sleep.”

“I wonder what it’s like,” Ben says, half to himself.

“What what is like?”

“Being normal. Like, the way other people are.”

“I wouldn’t know. I was never normal.”

“I guess it can’t be that great then,” Ben says, with an impish grin.

His boyish smile and his big, bright-blue eyes make Gabe’s stomach feel a way it absolutely shouldn’t feel when he’s talking to his son’s boyfriend. Then it dawns on him clearly for the first time. Ben looks like Jack, and they both look like Adam. The boy he lost his virginity with. The first person he had loved. He wonders vaguely if first loves are really as significant as people say, after all, and whether his whole life has been influenced so strongly by that single experience so many years ago, when he was just a child. Poor Jesse. Jesus Christ. Of course he’s not in love with Ben. Fucking god damned Angela. He hates when she’s right.

“Gabe? Is everything ok?” he hears Ben saying.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. My mind wanders off on its own a lot. If you don’t mind me asking, how are things between you and Jesse?”

“They’re…good,” Ben says, unable to conceal the brief hesitation between the words. “I mean, I like the way things are between us…how they are now. God. I couldn’t have worded that any more awkwardly if I’d tried.”

“Probably not,” Gabe smiles. “So, I guess that means it’s not exactly perfect.”

“I…wish I could tell you you’re wrong,” Ben says. He looks down at his cigarette. “I don’t know if talking to his dad about it is the best idea, though.”

“No worries. I understand if you’d rather not discuss it with me. You just seem like you might need to talk to someone.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, you’ve got that look, you know?”

“Ha, yeah.” Ben pauses and draws on his cigarette again. “I just…I felt like Jesse and I were in a certain place in our relationship. And now I’m…I don’t know.”

Gabe nods. “You’re worried that him inviting you along on a family trip means that he’s more serious than you thought.”

“I…yeah. That is what I’m worried about.” Ben looks up at him apprehensively. “I’m not trying to lead Jesse on. I swear I’m not. I genuinely thought coming with him was the right thing to do. I hope you’re not angry with me.”

“Not at all,” Gabe says. “Actually…I’d better come clean with you, Ben. I asked Jesse to invite you along.”

Ben frowns. “You did? Why?”

“Would you believe…the world’s weirdest job interview?”

“I—I’m sorry, what?” Ben says, now utterly lost. “Job interview?”

“I want you to work for me,” Gabe replies frankly. “I ordered Jesse not to tell you, so don’t be upset with him. I needed to see how you’d gel with the senior staff without putting pressure on you to perform or anything.”

“The senior staff…” Ben says. “Wait, you somehow thought it’d be _less_ pressure for me to think he wanted me to meet his family as his boyfriend?”

“Well, when you put it that way, it sounds like a very stupid plan,” Gabe says, sitting up and straightening his jacket. “But I couldn’t really think of any other way to put you in contact with them without it being obvious.”

“What’s the job?”

“That’s the tricky part. I can’t actually tell you until you’ve accepted it. Classified military stuff and all that.”

Ben doesn’t bat an eyelash. “I accept. What is it.”

“You…accept,” Gabe repeats, as if trying to work out what he means. “Just like that?”

“Yeah, of course,” Ben says. “Anything Overwatch could possibly want me for, I’d be willing to do. So I’m in.”

“Well,” Gabe says, blinking incredulously. “That was significantly easier than I thought it would be.”

Ben laughs. “I’m not an idiot, Gabe. Whatever it is, it’s got to be a pretty big step up from part-time modeling and blowing guys to make rent. So, come on. Tell me what it is.”

“I will, but I have to get you to sign a pre-recruitment NDA first. It’s standard procedure for this type of hiring, where all the official documents will have to be gone over and signed later.”

Ben looks disappointed. “Yeah, ok. That makes sense.”

“If you can’t wait five seconds for me to get my phone out, maybe you’re not right for the job,” Gabe smirks. “I have the form on here. You just read it and give a thumbprint signature.”

“Oh, cool,” Ben says, brightening again. “You guys do enough field recruiting to make it worth your while to carry the form around with you?”

“You’d be surprised,” Gabe laughs. “Here. I have to keep the phone in my hand, but you can scroll through it yourself.”

Gabe sits beside Ben and waits as he scrolls slowly through the document on the tiny screen, reading each section carefully. He reaches the end and the prompt pops up to signal his understanding and agreement to the terms by pressing his thumb to the blue square. He raises his hand to the screen, then draws it back.

“Gabe…this is a big, life-changing thing I’m about to do. I’m sorry, but it really just hit me this second.”

“It’s alright if you want some time to think about it,” Gabe says. “I actually expected that you would.”

“No, I know I want to do it,” Ben says, shaking his head. “But—I have to be brutally honest here—I need to be sure I’m being offered an opportunity like this for the right reasons. And I need to be sure that it’s not contingent on my relationship with Jesse. If it’s because of that, I don’t want it.”

“It is partially because of your relationship with Jesse,” Gabe says. “Hear me out, though. It’s not the way you think. Jesse has a better instinct for people than anyone I’ve ever met. He’s a bloodhound for any kind of dishonesty or lack of integrity. The fact that he trusts you and thinks highly of you is all the recommendation I need. So, yes, you are being offered this job because of Jesse. But it’s because of his assessment of your character” —he grins mischievously— “and _not_ the fact that you two can’t keep your hands off each other long enough to have a polite conversation with his extended family.”

Ben blushes and hides his face in his hands. “Oh, god. I can’t believe you were fucking sitting there when we came back up to the house. I almost died of embarrassment.”

“Hey, no judgement. Me and—me and my uh…significant other,” Gabe says, stumbling lamely over the characterization of his relationship. “We were the same way when we were kids.”

“Oh, I don’t know if he was supposed to, but…Jesse told me that you’re with someone,” Ben says. “He said that it’s not public, though. So, don’t worry about me saying anything.”

Gabe eyes Ben approvingly. The kid has certainly already figured out who, too. He’s polite enough to let Gabe know that he knows, and smart enough not to say it outright. He smiles and holds the phone out to him again. Ben takes a deep breath, hesitates, and then presses his thumb to the glowing blue square.

“Welcome to Overwatch, Ben,” Gabe says. “Or, Special Agent Benjamin Pelletier, I should say.”

Ben nods, finding his voice momentarily choked by a surge of emotion for which he hadn’t been prepared. The full reality of his situation hits him all at once. Crushes his chest so he can’t breathe. Up until a few months ago, he’d been a prostitute. Literally selling his body to strangers. But this is not the time for regret. Every choice he’s made, every step he’s taken, has led him here. To this place and time. And now…now he’s sitting beside the man who saved the world, being welcomed into that vast and lofty tower from which real-life heroes keep vigilant watch over humanity. His parents would have been so proud.

Without realizing he is doing it, he murmurs softly to himself, “…and how can man die better, than facing fearful odds…”

“…for the ashes of his fathers and the temples of his gods,” Gabe says, finishing the line. He smiles. “I mean, I hope it doesn’t come to that, of course. But Horatius at the gate is a good analogy. We’re all people who have chosen to stand up and say we’re willing to give our lives in defense of the helpless and innocent. Now you are, too.”

Ben nods again. “Thank you, Gabe—I’m sorry, that’s probably not an appropriate way to address you anymore.”

“Technically, no,” Gabe says. “I don’t normally let agents use my first name. But for the job I have for you…it’ll be better that you keep calling me that. So it comes more naturally if you ever have to use it in public.”

“In public?” Ben says, mystified. “What…why would I call you that in public?”

“Because that’s what Jack calls me,” Gabe grins. “Speaking of the Strike-Commander, it seemed like you two really hit it off.”

“If you can call it that. I mean, he’s the most powerful man in the world. I doubt I made much of an impression on him, but he certainly made an impression on me.”

“I don’t think you’re right. I know Jack pretty well. I can tell when he’s being diplomatic and when he really likes someone. I’ve never seen him swap clothes with anyone before, if that tells you anything.”

“Jesus,” Ben says, with a nervous laugh. “Praise from Caesar. Thank you.”

“It’s just true,” Gabe shrugs. “Anyway, I’m glad you two like each other, because you’re going to be spending quite a bit of time together when we get back to HQ.”

“We, uh…we are?”

“Yep. You are going to know Jack Morrison better than anyone does, apart from me.”

“Ha. That’s—that’s fucking terrifying,” Ben almost pants. He’s getting an inkling of what this job is going to entail and he’s absolutely petrified. Being dropped into the front lines of battle would be a far less daunting prospect than what he thinks he’s going to be asked to do.

“Jack’s not that scary,” Gabe laughs. “He can be, but he’s not cruel or anything. You’ll be fine.”

“Gabe, I’m not an actor,” Ben blurts out. “I did a couple of plays in high school, but otherwise I have no practice with that kind of thing.”

Gabe grins. “Good. You _are_ as smart as I thought. Ideally, there won’t be a whole lot of acting involved. Not for an up-close audience, anyway. But we can talk about all of that later. I really should find Angela and update her on Jack’s condition. You coming in?”

“Yeah, I think I’d better try to sleep a little. I guess there’s going to be a party tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Gabe says, following Ben inside. “It’s Lena’s birthday. She’s only turning three or four or something, though, so you know how it’s going to be. All boring, awful government people wanting to ‘pay their respects’ and kiss her daddy’s ass as hard as they can.”

“There you are, darlings,” Lydia calls out from the hall door, as they pass into the sitting room. “Who’s kissing whose ass and why wasn’t I invited to watch?”

“All the sycophants and phonies who are going to be here tomorrow,” Gabe grins. “Don’t worry, you didn’t miss anything fun.”

“Ugh, I know, but that’s the nature of the beast, I’m afraid,” she says. “I can’t wait till Reggie retires. Then I can tell everyone to sod off and live like a hermit, like I’ve always wanted. But I was just looking for you, Gabey. Angie’s with Jackie and she wants to talk to you before you go to bed.” She lowers her voice. “Papa and Jesse are supposedly still talking in the study, but I suspect the old man is really teaching him to smoke cigars.”

“It’d be preferable to cigarettes, I guess.” Gabe kisses Lydia’s cheek. “I’ll go up now. Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Benny, you give your old auntie a kiss, too,” she says. Ben obliges, though he blushes scarlet, which makes Lydia laugh and pinch his cheek. “You are just too sweet for anything! Breakfast is served at nine, but we’re not too picky about punctuality. If you show up after noon, it’s just called lunch. Nighty night, darlings!”

Ben is still lying awake some hours later, when Jesse slinks into their room, strips, and tumbles into bed. Ben turns over and snuggles into him.

“Hey darlin,” Jesse says softly. He sounds weary and drained. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“You didn’t,” Ben sighs. “I can never sleep when you’re not with me.”

“Sorry I was with the Colonel so long. We had a lot to say.”

“It’s ok. I understand. How was it?”

“Kinda sad, but in that good soft way like in songs. He give me my mama’s bible.”

“Wow. That’s a precious thing to have. I’m so glad.”

“I seen the boss before I come up. He said he talked to you.”

“He did.”

“You take the job?”

“I did.”

Jesse sighs.

“Is that alright?” Ben asks.

“Yeah. It’s alright,” Jesse says, pulling him into his arms. “Everything’s gonna be alright.”

 

 


	98. Perfect

 

 

Claudia taps her fingers anxiously on the desk as she waits for the call to connect. After a moment, the audio clicks in and a gnarled, growly voice answers.

“Engineering. Have you tried turning it off and turning it on again?”

“Chief Lind—” Claudia begins.

Her voice is drowned out by a peal of raucous laughter from the Engineering Chief, accompanied by a big, booming laugh that clearly belongs to Lieutenant Wilhelm.

“That’s—yeah. That’s very funny, sir.” She sighs and waits for their mirth to die down.

“Hello, Agent Oberkampf!” Lt. Wilhelm practically shouts, as if the call is not on speaker, and she might have trouble hearing him. “How are you today!”

“Hi, Lt. Wilhelm,” she says. “I’m very well, thank you. Chief, I have a serious issue to report.”

“Well, spit it out, young lady,” Chief Lindholm replies merrily. “I’m a busy man, you know.”

“Yes, you do sound very busy, sir. There’s been a security breach in the Blackwatch sector.”

“Ah, I see,” the Chief says. “But aren’t you acting Blackwatch Commander?”

“I am sir,” she says patiently. “But the procedure for this type of incident is to report to senior command. You’re senior command, so…I’m reporting it.”

“Well done!” Lt. Wilhelm booms cheerfully. “Procedures are important!”

“Uh…thank you,” Claudia says. “So, I would suggest that we—”

“Athena!” the Chief bellows. “Pull up the incident log on both our screens.”

The incident report (including all forty-seven possible scenarios explaining the unidentified person having access to the Blackwatch sector) pops up on Commander Reyes’ computer monitor. As the screen glows to life, Claudia can’t help but notice a file on the desktop labeled “Lacroix Case: BWM-003”. This is the last name of her deceased friend and Jesse’s agent designation. She forces herself to ignore it and returns her attention to the incident report, which Chief Lindholm is reading, muttering every few words or so aloud as he does.

“Ah, fascinating,” he says. She can almost hear him stroking his beard as he speaks. “Forty-seven possible scenarios. Alright. What action have you taken so far?”

“I’ve alerted base security and posted Blackwatch staff on extra guard rotations.”

“Excellent, excellent,” he says. “So, all we’ve got to do now is go through all the scenarios, apply Occam’s razor, and we’ll have our solution.”

“I don’t think that’s how Occam’s razor works, sir,” she says, scanning through the list. “And some of these involve… _time travel_? Athena, are you ok?”

“Would you like me to run a self-diagnostic, Acting Commander Oberkampf?” the AI intones.

“It couldn’t hurt,” Claudia says drily. “Chief, most of these scenarios are just different kinds of database errors. I can’t access that stuff from here without authorization. Should I send this to IT?”

“Self-diagnostic complete,” Athena interjects. “No errors found.”

“Of course not, darlin’, you’re perfect,” Chief Lindholm coos affectionately to the AI. Then he clears his throat and says to Claudia, “Yes, kick it over to IT for now. But there’s still the issue of the intruder disappearing from the base.”

“Perhaps the intruder is a very swift runner,” Lt. Wilhelm offers.

“A very swift—Reinhardt, have you gone off your rocker?” the Chief rumbles. “Look at the timestamps in the incident log. They’d have to be the swiftest runner on the planet to clear the base in the time it took Oberkampf to check their location. Athena, where did the party exit HQ?”

“Unidentified party exited Swiss Headquarters at grid coordinates A-118513,” Athena replies.

“Coordinates A-118513,” the Chief says. “Call up the—thank you. Let me see here… Blast it all, Athena, those coordinates are in a washroom in the middle of the damned building. How could they have exited from there?”

“Unknown, Chief Lindholm,” Athena says.

“Well, send security up to check it out,” the Chief says. “And pull up your core OS, would you my dear? Oberkampf, you there?”

“Here, Chief,” Claudia says.

“Keep your men on alert for anything else suspicious, for now. We’ll do the same up here.” He lowers his voice to a private tone, as if to evade the hearing of the omnipresent AI. “I’m starting to think there might be a glitch or two in the old Goddess of Wisdom, after all. I’ll get a hold of you after I give her a once-over.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, and you’ll probably want to alert your boss. I know they’re off team-building or whatever nonsense, but Reyes can be a smidge touchy when it comes to his home turf.”

“Got it. Thank you, Chief.”

The two men bid her a hearty farewell and the call disconnects. Claudia sends Commander Reyes a message explaining the intrusion, with the incident log attached. In a few minutes, a very brief message comes back.

BWR-002: Good work. Keep me posted.

MDO-003: Yes, sir.

She puts her phone away and sits gazing distractedly at the file on the Commander’s monitor. There aren’t any other case files on the desktop. And she was given authorization to access this computer, as acting Blackwatch Commander. And Jesse would probably just tell her what was in it if she asked anyway… She realizes what she’s doing and chides herself for the justification she’s constructing. The fact is, it’s probably wrong to look at the report, but she can’t help but be intensely curious, considering the subject matter.

“Ok, Claudia,” she says aloud. “You’re doing bad and you know it. I hope you don’t regret this.”

Not wanting to give herself a chance to lose her nerve, she quickly taps the screen to open the file. There. It’s done. Commander Reyes can be pissed off if he wants. She hasn’t gotten any closure regarding the death of her friend or the disappearance of his wife and she’ll be damned if—

“Oh my god,” she says aloud, as she reads through the first few sentences. Then, “What the actual fucking fuck.”

Her pretty face hardens with anger as she continues reading. She’s practically seething by the time she’s through. The case has been marked closed with the note: “rejected due to lack of evidence,” and signed by Commander Reyes. But the report itself is a catalogue of evidence laid out plainly before her eyes, showing that her friend had been murdered by his wife, who was an agent working for Talon, and that Talon had orchestrated her previous kidnapping and facilitated her current disappearance.

Commander Reyes has chosen to ignore Jesse’s report. To decline further investigation. To let them get away with it. Tears of grief and rage well up in her eyes and spill over, blurring her vision as she scrolls to the beginning to read through it again. Gérard Lacroix was one of their own. A good man and a good agent. He deserved better than this.

She sits back in the chair, knots of anxiety tightening in her stomach. How could the Commander do something like this? How is it possible? It isn’t. It’s not possible for the Gabriel Reyes she knows to be sweeping this under the rug. Not without a good reason. So, he must have some specific purpose in mind. He must. She has to believe that he does, or her entire concept of the man, everything she believes about him—her entire reason for being on this team—will be shattered. That is an idea too horrifying to entertain.

“He must have a reason,” she repeats to herself. “He must have a reason. He must.”

She feels as if she’s been repeating this every minute of every day when the senior staff finally return from their trip to England. She and Chief Lindholm have met only dead-ends in their investigation of the bizarre intrusion into the Blackwatch sector, and it appears that there is nothing to be done but keep security on alert for anything suspicious. Besides, she hasn’t had much mental energy to devote to the incident anyway.

The issue of Jesse’s report has been bouncing around in her head giving her stress migraines. She hasn’t slept well all week, and she’s so tired of the suspense, she’s not even afraid of how the Commander will respond to her having read a classified file on his computer. She just wants to have it out and done with. When she knocks at his office door the morning after his arrival, however, she finds him inside speaking with Commander Morrison.

“Oh, hey bosses,” she says apologetically. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, Comman—”

She stops short and blinks as her mind fully processes the tall, blonde man’s face. It isn’t Commander Morrison. Commander Reyes laughs, apparently amused by her error. The young man who isn’t the Strike-Commander looks exceedingly uncomfortable.

“Claudia,” Commander Reyes says. “This is Ben Pelletier, our new agent. Ben, this is Dr. Oberkampf. She’s the head of the Blackwatch medical team.”

“I’m…pleased to meet you,” Claudia says, stepping forward to shake Ben’s hand.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Ben says, returning the handshake. “You’re Claudia. Claws, right? Jesse talks about you a lot.”

“Wait, you’re Jesse’s Ben?” Claudia says, increasingly baffled. “What’s going on, boss?”

“I hired Ben,” Gabe laughs. “Jesus, Claws, keep up.”

“Oh, well…welcome to Blackwatch, Ben,” Claudia says, smiling as cordially as she can.

“Thank you,” Ben says. “So, you’re the head of the medical team? That must be interesting.”

“Well, I _am_ the medical team for now,” Claudia says modestly. “But we’re working on expanding it. I’m sorry for gawking at you that way when I came in. You, uh…you look a bit like—”

“Commander Morrison?” Ben grins. “Yeah, I get that a lot. It’s ok.”

“It’s more than ok, considering the reason he’s here,” Commander Reyes interjects. “It’s exactly what we want.”

“I’m sorry, boss, what?” Claudia asks. “Why?”

“Ben is here to be trained as a security double for Jack.”

“Wow. That’s quite a job.” She considers this for a moment, then her scientific curiosity takes over and she steps close to inspect his face more thoroughly. “Well, he looks enough like the Strike-Commander to have confused me for a split-second, but the likeness won’t hold up under any kind of scrutiny.”

“It’ll take some doing to make him perfect, but it’s possible.” Gabe says, looking Ben over appreciatively. “You’re a good canvas to work from.”

“Uh…thanks?” Ben says.

“Jack’s a handsome man,” Gabe shrugs. “There are worse men to look like. The real trick will be the voice.”

“I wasn’t told this was a speaking part,” Ben laughs uneasily. “I could smoke a pack of cigarettes and drink a bottle of bourbon every day for a year and I wouldn’t have his voice.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Claudia says musingly. “But I might be able to help with that.”

Gabe nods. “Our agents often have reason to disguise their voices. Claudia has been working on a cool gadget for that specific purpose.”

“A cool gadget?”

“I’m a cybernetics specialist,” Claudia explains. “I’ve been developing a cybernetic prosthesis of sorts that acts as a real-time voice modulator. I mean, it works perfectly, but it’s uncomfortable to wear. That’s the part that’s still in development. It has to fit over the maxillary and mandibular molars on both sides, which unfortunately prevents the mouth closing all the way. It causes jaw pain and other annoyances.”

“Why don’t you just remove the molars and implant the device?” Ben asks.

“Well, most agents don’t want to have teeth pulled and electronics installed in their place just so they can alter their voice once or twice a year,” Claudia grins. “It’s kind of a big ask, you know?”

“Well…I’d be ok with it.” Ben offers. His pretty face flushes pink as his two companions stare at him. “I just thought…I mean, if my whole job is pretending to be someone else, it’s probably better to have it ready all the time, right?”

“Ben, you are a fucking treasure,” Gabe laughs. “I wish all my agents had your attitude. Claws, you think you can work up a dental implant version for Ben?”

“Absolutely. I already have the internal components ready.” She turns to Ben. “We’ll need to take dental impressions, since the casings will have to be custom-fitted to your mouth. We can do that right now, if you’ve got time.”

“That’s not really up to me,” Ben says. “Do I have time, Gabe?”

“Yeah, just come back here when you’re done. And make sure you keep your mask on.”

Ben grins and pinches a concealed button in the collar of his jacket. The air around his head warps and shimmers, and a dark-haired young man who looks vaguely like Ben smiles at them. Claudia shudders. She’ll never get used to those things.

“Why can’t I just wear one of these?” he asks. “To look like Jack?”

“Flicker,” Gabe and Claudia say in unison.

“Flicker?”

“Yeah,” Gabe says. “Holomasks flicker on holovid cameras because they operate at a similar frequency. Plus they don’t fool Omnics. Bots can spot ‘em a mile away.”

“Ah. Got it,” Ben says. “Surgery it is, then.”

Claudia leads him out the door, promising Commander Reyes she’ll have him back in an hour. She gazes at him thoughtfully as they ride the lift toward the med bay.

He smiles. “What is it? You’ve got a look.”

“I have to ask this because I’m your doctor now,” she says. “Are you seriously ok with having your face and body surgically altered for this job?”

“I’m…wary of the surgery,” Ben says slowly. “But that’s because I’ve only recently recovered from some severe facial injuries. Otherwise, yes. I’m ok with it.”

“Look, I don’t mean to press you, but as a physician, it’s my duty to inform you of the risks, as well as ensure that you’re prepared for the potential psychological impact of undergoing such a drastic change in your appearance.”

“I’m aware of the risks, Dr. Oberkampf. As for the psychological implications…I don’t want to look like myself anymore. So I’m not too worried about that.”

Claudia blinks. “Why don’t you want to look like yourself?”

“I don’t like how the way I look makes other people treat me.”

“But, Ben, that’s not about you, it’s about them. Altering your face to—”

“No, wait, listen,” he says earnestly. “You’re a woman, so you know what it’s like. How it feels to walk down the street and know men are looking at you like you’re an object. You know how vile and degrading it is and how angry it makes you.”

“I—I do,” she says, taken aback by the sudden intensity in the young man’s manner.

“But do you know how it feels to know they’re right? And you really are just a hole to fuck? A thing for them to use and throw away? Because I do.”

She shakes her head in bewilderment. “What do you mean?”

“I’m a whore,” he says bluntly. “Or, I was. I was selling myself to strangers for rent money a few months ago. Now I have a chance to do something that matters. To work with the men who saved the world. I’d give up more than my face for that.”

“I understand, Ben. But…what about the people who love you? What about Jesse?”

“Jesse doesn’t love me. Don’t—please don’t look so sad. I don’t want Jesse to love me. I can’t love him back and it wouldn’t be fair to him.” He sighs. “The truth is…I don’t know if I’m capable of love anymore.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” she says, frowning sympathetically.

“I’m not saying it so you’ll pity me, just so you’ll understand why I’m making this decision. Even if I can love someone someday, I don’t want to depend on anyone. I want to do something for myself, on my own. This is my chance. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity, and nothing is going to dissuade me from it.”

“I’m sorry, Ben. I overstepped. I should have spoken more carefully. This is your life and you have every right to live it the way you want.”

“Oh, no, I’m not upset,” Ben says apologetically. “I didn’t think you overstepped. Sorry. I’ve got a lot going on in my head right now and it all just flooded out at once. Has…anyone ever told you you’re really easy to talk to?”

“Yeah, actually,” Claudia laughs. “A lot of people around here have. It’s the doctor thing, I think. I’m a safe place to vent, since you’ve all got doctor patient confidentiality with me.”

“Is that true?”

“Yep. As long as you’re on staff, I’m your doctor, so you can talk to me about anything and I can’t tell anyone. Unless you’re planning to hurt yourself or someone else. Then I _have_ to. Mandatory reporter and all that.”

They step off the lift at the med floor and continue down the long, broad hallway toward the dental clinic.

“So, you know everyone’s dirty little secrets?” Ben says. “That must be…weird.”

“You have no idea.” Claudia shakes her head. “Weird doesn’t even begin to describe it.”

Ben laughs. “Maybe it’s better that I don’t have any idea, then. But thanks for letting me throw mine on the pile. I appreciate it.”

“No problem. You can talk to me anytime. And just to set the record straight, I wasn’t trying to talk you out of what you’re doing. I think it’s pretty impressive, how brave you are about it. I’d be scared shitless.”

“Oh, I am.”

“You are?”

“Fuck yeah, are you kidding me? This is terrifying. But courage is doing what you set out to do even when you’re afraid, right?”

“Yeah, it is,” Claudia says, smiling up at him.

He claims Jesse doesn’t love him, but she wonders how much truth there is to it. If he really doesn’t love this bright, beautiful young man, then Jesse is a fucking idiot. This thought brings her mind back to Jesse’s report, and her stomach twists with anxiety again. She’ll have to catch the boss later and ask him to talk, but that had seemed like a far less daunting prospect yesterday than it does now, after seeing him face to face again. Maybe it would be wiser to ask Jesse about it first. Test the waters before she dives in.

Making the impressions is a quick process, and Claudia is able to take Ben back down to the Blackwatch sector well within the promised timeframe. When they arrive at Gabe’s office, Jesse is there, lounging on the sofa with his feet on the coffee table, as usual. Ben clicks off the holomask and smiles.

“Hey, Jesse. I’ve met the infamous Claws and she is now my favorite person. You’ve been demoted to second favorite.”

“Well, easy come easy go,” Jesse says, with a mock sigh of resignation. “Y’all want to get some lunch later?”

“I’m actually…going to eat with Jack and Gabe today,” Ben says awkwardly. “Sorry.”

Jesse cocks an eye at Gabe from under the brim of his hat. “You two still tryina steal my boyfriend, boss? I thought we had a talk about that.”

“It’s work, pendejo,” Gabe retorts from behind his monitor. “He has to spend as much time with Jack as he can, and he can’t follow him around to meetings and…shit. Actually, Ben, I have a new plan. We’ll talk about it over lunch, though. Jack will have to approve it.”

“Oh, uh…ok,” Ben says. “But when is lunch? I have no idea.”

“It’s whenever Jack is free. Are you hungry?”

“No, not really.”

“Ok, then let’s go over your training schedule,” Gabe says. He looks up at Jesse and Claudia. “What is everyone doing hanging around my fucking office still? Don’t you people have work to do?”

“Yes, sir,” Claudia says, moving toward the door.

“Nope,” Jesse says at the same time, but he gets up and follows her anyway.

“How was everything? In England?” she asks, after the door has shut behind them.

“Kinda…weird, I guess. It was good though.”

“Did you get to spend time with your grandfather?”

“Yup. He’s a real old-ass soldier and spy and shit. He got a lot of stories about the old days before the Crisis. And my mama.”

“That must have been a lot to take in. Are you ok?”

Jesse shrugs. “I reckon I’ll survive.”

They walk in silence for a moment, then Claudia says, “Jesse, can I ask your advice about something?”

“My advice?” Jesse laughs. “Alright, but if it ain’t about choppers or sharpshootin’, I might not be your man.”

“It’s about the boss. But let’s go talk on the patio, huh? I don’t want to be overheard.”

On the smoking patio, Jesse sits on a table with his feet on the bench. Claudia smiles. Despite their lifetime of estrangement, Jesse is very much his father’s son. He takes out what looks like a black cigar and puffs on it as he lights it.

“Wait, when did you start smoking cigars?” Claudia laughs. “Is this new?”

Jesse grins, holding the thing between his teeth. “Grandpa smokes cigars. He made it look so badass, I thought I’d give it a spin. So, what’s up, Claws?”

“So…there was a file,” she says. “On the desktop of the boss’s computer. It was the only file there. It was a report labeled ‘Lacroix Case’ and it had your agent designation on it.”

“Did you read it?”

“Yes.”

Jesse puffs on his cigar. “You say anything to the boss about it?”

“No. I haven’t caught him alone yet. But I’m kind of glad I haven’t. I mean, I don’t want to be dishonest with him, so I am going to tell him I read it, but maybe it’s better that I talk to you first.”

“Maybe it is. He was pretty fuckin’ clear about not wantin’ me to follow it up. And there was no other files on the desktop?”

“Nothing. Not even daily briefings or anything.”

“Ain’t that peculiar,” Jesse says thoughtfully. “Don’t seem like the boss to leave somethin’ like that layin’ around. Unless…”

“Unless?”

“Well, you ever known the boss to do anything careless or forgetful?”

A chill creeps up Claudia’s spine. “No, I haven’t. You’ve known him longer than I have, though. You tell me.”

“He don’t,” Jesse says, puffing out little circles of smoke. “I’m thinkin’ if he left that file there, he wanted you to see it.”

“But why?”

“No tellin’. That fucker’s about as deep as they come. Chances are he already knows you seen it, too.”

“You think he was, like, testing me? That’s…fucked up, Jesse.”

“I ain’t sayin’ that’s what he’s doin’. I reckon he trusts you, judgin’ by the way he talks about you. But it ain’t wise to keep shit from him anyhow. I’d say go with your gut and tell him.”

Claudia nods. “Yeah. I think I will. I don’t want to do anything to damage whatever trust he has in me. But I hope he has a really good reason for suppressing this, Jesse. Agent Lacroix was one of our own.”

“I do too,” Jesse says. He snuffs his cigar and tosses the nub into an ashtray. “I reckon you want to get back to work. I’ma hit the practice range for a while. Let me know what happens.”

“I will. Oh, and Jesse, call Genji, ok? He’s been asking about you.”

“I’ll text him right now,” Jesse says, tipping his hat as Claudia departs. “Later, Claws.”

He takes out his phone and types a message to his friend.

Jesse: hey Genj I been in England for a spell but I’m back now how you been?

As he walks down to the practice range, he receives a message back.

Genji: hello Jesse I have been terrible. :(

Genji: Hanzo has done something terrible and everything is terrible

Jesse: what’s he done Genj?

A minute passes, then Jesse’s phone vibrates again. The message is a picture of a forlorn and red-eyed Genji looking dolefully into the camera. Jesse gazes at it for a moment and then laughs.

Jesse: aw Genj I’m real sorry but it don’t look that bad

Genji: it looks terrible and I hate it :(

Jesse: why’d he make you change it?

Genji: he said that if I do not pass my exams I must make my hair black again

Jesse: you didn’t pass your exams?

Genji: it was only one I failed and I passed the second time

Genji: but you see he has mad me ruin my hear anyway

Genji: I hate him

Jesse: Aw come on Genj you can’t go hatin your brother for a little old thing like that

Jesse: he’s probably just tryina do like your pa woulda

Genji: BUT HEEEE IS NOT MY FARTHER

Genji: he is my stupid bastard brothel and he it stupid

Jesse: hey Genj, you been drinkin a little?

Genji: I have been drimking a lot thank you

Jesse: listen I think your hair looks real nice

Jesse: it makes you look kinda older and cooler

Genji: do you reall think si or are yo u only saying that so I will not be sad

Jesse: I really think so. You look real handsome

Genji: thanoou

Genji: thnk you

Jesse: you’re welcome

Jesse: why don’t you try and get some sleep and I’ll talk to ya tomorrow

Genji: ok jusse but I and not sleepy

Jesse: I reckon it’ll sneak up on you if you lie down a little while. I’ll call you tomorrow ok?

Genji: ok

Jesse: night Genj

Genji: nighth 

Genji: Jesse you are my best friend I love you

Jesse: I love you too and I miss you lots

Genji: I miss yoy to you area the bets

Jesse: thanks Genji. You’re the best too

Genji: ok nfirhyr

Genji: duck

Genji: night

Jesse: Goodnight Genji :)

 

 

A short time later, Jesse is on the practice range annihilating training bots as fast as the system can reset them. His face is stern and focused and his hand is as steady as steel, but his mind is nowhere near the practice range. He is working on auto-pilot as he devotes the full resources of his detective’s mind to the Commander’s behavior regarding the Lacroix case.

His _father’s_ behavior, he reminds himself yet again. Though the man had hardly spent any time with him and the other members of his “family” at that fancy castle. With Jack’s episode, Lena’s party, the visit to the Queen, and him runnin’ off for an entire day with that white-haired fella, Jesse had barely seen him. That’s how the boss is. He’s got a million things goin’ on and he ain’t always gonna have time for you. Even when he shoulda fuckin’ made time.

He dumps the shells from the chamber, punches a speed-loader into the cylinder, and disintegrates the heads of six training bots. That ain’t what he’s supposed to be thinkin’ about. He locks his mind back into its proper track and sorts mentally through what he knows and doesn’t know. As these wheels revolve, they reveal connected wheels, which also begin to spin, setting more spinning and more, until a complex mechanism begins to reveal itself, like the inner workings of a clock.

Another roll of bullets. Six more smoking heaps of machinery. He tries stopping and starting different wheels, asking different questions, approaching from other angles, but he can’t get a clear picture. This means he’s missing something. Some vital clue to the riddle. The central gear, without which, none of the others move. The void where all these things should connect makes the presence of some crucial element indisputable, but he can’t see it. He needs more information. He reaches for another speed loader.

“Looks like today’s y’all’s lucky day,” he says aloud to the newly reset row of training bots. “I’m all out.”

He holsters his revolver and strolls away across the range to the exit, where he turns in the spent speed loaders and checks his score.

MCCREE, JESSE

ROUNDS FIRED: 120

TARGETS HIT: 120

HEAD SHOTS: 120

SCORE: PERFECT

 

 

 


	99. Now and Then

“Lieutenant Colonel Reyes?”

“Hm? Oh, yes,” the scarred, dark-skinned man replied, breaking from his reverie and returning his attention to the conversation at hand. He nodded, rubbing his palms together anxiously. “I agree. Absolutely.”

“Major Morrison?”

The handsome, square-jawed blonde blinked his bright blue eyes. “I suppose if Colonel Reyes is in favor…then I have no choice.”

“I’m in favor, Morrison,” the colonel replied gruffly. “And show a little respect for what you’re being offered, here.”

The major’s eyes flashed for a fraction of an instant, but his face remained tranquil. “Of course, I’d be honored to accept the position, if that’s what the council wants.”

“Excellent. Alright then, that’s all we have for you gentlemen for now. We’ll meet back here tomorrow morning to talk about how this thing is going to be structured. And it was an honor to meet both of you. Thank you for your service.”

The two tall, muscular, military men rose from their seats, nodded stiff goodbyes, and departed the chamber together. They’d had the option of wearing suits to these meetings, and indeed had been advised by the Army PR office to do so, but they had ignored the advice and arrived in their accustomed fatigues and black berets. The result was that they’d looked a lot more like the actual soldiers they were than the UN people had been entirely prepared for, and they’d gotten a good deal more respect and deference than they would have otherwise.

They walked silently down the hall, waited silently for the elevator, then boarded it together. As the doors slid shut, they looked at each other and burst out laughing in unison.

“What did I fucking tell you?” the colonel said.

“You told me they’d offer it to me, you didn’t say you’d back them up.” The major shook his head ruefully. “I can’t believe you’d throw me under the bus like this, Gabe.”

“Believe it, Jack. No way I’m getting fucked into being a UN poster-boy when your pretty blonde ass is right here to take the bullet for me.”

“I thought you were my best friend,” the blonde sighed, in mock despondency. “And here you are, betraying me the first chance you get.”

The colonel grinned a broad, shark-toothed grin. “Jack.”

“What?”

“Congratulations.”

“Fuck you.”

“You want to get a drink?”

“Yes.”

The two men rode in a cab back to their hotel and went to their rooms to change into civilian clothing, before meeting in the hotel bar. They ordered tequila and chose a booth in the darkest corner they could find. The less attention they attracted the better. They swallowed their first round without speaking a word, both occupied with their own thoughts. The colonel got up to order their second, and the blonde major sat watching him flirt idly with the bartender. He was just beginning to grow impatient when the colonel returned at last.

“She’s cute,” he said, accepting the glass his friend held out to him.

“Who?”

“The bartender.”

“Yeah, well, she’s not my type.”

“Oh yeah?” the major laughed. “What’s your type, Gabe?”

“Blondes,” the colonel replied distractedly.

“Blondes, huh?” The blonde man cast his big, blue eyes around the nearly-deserted bar. “Well, looks like you’re out of luck.”

“You can say that again,” the colonel snorted, raising his glass to his lips.

“Gabe…you’re being weird,” the major said. “Are you sure this whole thing doesn’t bother you?”

An odd look flickered across the older man’s ruggedly handsome features. “Which whole thing, Jack?”

“With the Security Council and the Strike-Commander position. I really think you should take it.”

“Nice try, Morrison. You’re not getting out of it that easily.”

“I mean it, Gabe. I don’t feel right about it. You led the team. You won the war. By all rights, the job is yours.”

“The job wasn’t offered to me, Jack,” the colonel said curtly. “So fucking drop it, ok?”

They sat sipping their tequila in silence for a few minutes.

“Kind of makes me wish it were easier to get drunk,” the major said. “Might take the edge off.”

“You’re telling me,” the colonel replied. “Jack, listen…I’m sorry I snapped at you. There’s a fuckload of complicated shit going on right now, and all I can think about is getting back out there and fighting those fucking tin cans. It’s like my mind can’t come back from it. Like I can’t accept that it’s over.”

“I understand. I don’t want to be doing this handshake and ass-kiss bullshit any more than you do. But we have to do it, so let’s just get through it.”

“But you’re so good at the handshake ass-kissing bullshit,” the colonel said, with a twinkle in his eye. “That’s why they’re giving you the job.”

The major grinned. “Well, I didn’t tell any of them to go fuck themselves, so maybe you’re right.”

“I am right. You’ll see. They’re gonna make sure your pretty white face is plastered all over every holovid screen in the world.”

“Jesus Christ, Gabe, they didn’t offer me the job because I’m white!” the major laughed. Then he paused. “Wait, they didn’t, did they?”

“Maybe not, but I’m gonna pretend to think they did anyway. You’re so cute when you’re afraid I think you’re a racist.”

“Gabe, I don’t want a job you should have because of my skin color. That’s fucking sickening.”

“Jack, relax. It’s not that. It’s that you’re…relatable. Wholesome, handsome, clean-cut, all of that. It might be shallow and stupid but it’s also true and it’s important. People will look at you and your face will give them hope. It’ll make them feel safe. People will trust you.”

“They should trust _you_ , though,” his friend said, with increasing energy. “You are the one who really led us. You are the one who made the plan to take down the mainframes. The world should be getting on its collective knees to suck your dick forever, not relegating you to second chair in some peacekeeping marching band. We all owe you our lives.”

“I owe _you_ mine,” the colonel said quietly. “You saved the world, too.”

“Gabe, come on. I’m serious.”

“I am too, Jack. You deserve this job. It’s not just about looks or race or orientation, it’s about you being the right man for it. Secretary Adawe isn’t an idiot. She knows exactly what she’s doing and I agree with her.”

“Well…thank you, Gabe. That means a lot to me.”

The colonel shrugged. “It’s just true.”

“Wait, orientation? What are you talking about?”

“Oh, I just—” the colonel broke off abruptly and swallowed the rest of his tequila in one go. “Fuck me, I wish this was actually helping. I’m gay, Jack.”

“I know.”

“You—how the fuck did you know?”

The young major smirked. “What, are you serious?”

“Ok, smartass, why were you giving me shit about the bartender then?”

“I was jealous.”

“That’s very cute, Morrison,” the colonel retorted. “I tell you something private about myself, and you make fun of me. Remind me, why are we friends again?”

“I’m not making fun of you, Gabriel,” the major said, stone-faced. “I’m telling the truth. I knew you liked men, but not that you  _didn’t_ like women. If I had I wouldn’t have been jealous.”

The colonel’s head felt suddenly light and he had to set his glass down to avoid spilling it.

“Uh…Jack,” he said cautiously, “are you drunk?”

“No, I’ve had two drinks. You know I’d have to drink at least a bottle of this to even feel it.”

“Yeah, ha—I do.” The colonel cleared his throat awkwardly. “Why were you, um…”

“Jealous?”

“Yeah, that.”

“Because I’ve been attracted to you since we met, and I was going to ask you to have sex with me tonight. If you had another prospect, I wouldn’t be able to do that.”

The colonel sat frozen, blinking incredulously into his friend’s brilliant, sapphire-blue eyes.

“You were going to…ask me…to have sex with you,” he rasped in a suddenly dry throat, hardly able to form the words. “Tonight.”

“Well, since we’re already talking about it, I guess technically I _am_ asking.”

“Jack…are you…I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not,” the major said, with a sly curl of his perfect lips. “But I’d like to be.”

The two left the hotel bar shortly thereafter, strolling through the lobby and chatting casually as they waited for the elevator. When the doors slid shut behind them this time, a very different scene unfolded than the one in the elevator at he UN. The colonel tapped the button for their floor, then found himself thrown against the wall and pinned there, with his friend’s muscular body pressed against his. They stared into each other’s eyes for a breathless beat, then their mouths collided in a sloppy, desperate kiss.

Gabe’s broad chest heaved and his knees nearly buckled with the delirious ecstasy of tasting the other man’s mouth and tongue and breathing in his warm, clean scent. Jack’s scent. Touching and tasting and smelling _Jack_. He almost sobbed right into the kiss, but he choked it back and threw his arms around his friend, his lover, his husband, Jack.

The elevator chimed and the blonde major stepped deftly away, somehow avoiding looking ruffled or disheveled in the least, apart from his rosy, kiss-bruised lips. They walked down the hall to a room marked 342. The major’s room. He slid his card in the reader and then they were inside. Gabe picked him up and carried him to the bed, falling down on top of him, mouths pressed hungrily together, grinding their hard cocks against each other through their jeans. Jack laughed as he drew away.

“What’s so funny, cariño?” Gabe murmured, tossing away his black undershirt.

“I’ve wanted to have sex with you for a long time, Gabe. I didn’t know you wanted me, too.”

“You have…no idea,” he replied hoarsely, as if struggling to control his voice.

“I wish I’d spoken up sooner,” Jack said, letting Gabe pull him to his feet. “We could have been fucking for years.”

Gabe swallowed the stab of pain that tore through his chest at this casual remark. He looked down and began to unbutton the fly of his jeans to hide his reaction, and they hastily stripped off the rest of their clothing. He pushed the younger man back onto the bed, then he paused.

“Fuck, I don’t have any—”

“Nightstand drawer,” Jack grinned. “Gotta take care of business on your own sometimes.”

Gabe nodded and retrieved the little blue and white bottle.

“Gabe, one thing,” Jack said. “I’ve never had sex with a man.”

“I think you’ll get the hang of it pretty quickly,” Gabe replied unconcernedly. “But don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.”

“Oh, I’m not afraid. I just wanted you to know I might need a little coaching.”

“No, you won’t,” Gabe purred into his ear. “I’ll put you where I want you.”

He took Jack’s face in his hands and devoured his mouth, kissing him hard and deep until they were both out of breath. Then he moved down his neck, grazing it with his teeth. Jack groaned as Gabe bit into the meat of his shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise.

Gabe laughed softly. “You like that.”

“Yeah…I do.”

Jack relaxed his head back into the pillows as his friend pushed his legs apart and knelt between them, unscrewing the lid from the bottle of lubricant. His chest flushed pink as big, slick fingers worked inside him, stretching him open and making him gasp and moan. He craned his neck to look up into the man’s handsome, scarred, dusky-brown face. His eyes were heavy-lidded with desire and his perfect body was poised like a coiled snake, ready to strike. He looked so focused. So intense and resolute and staggeringly sexy.

“I’m going to fuck you now, Jack,” he murmured. “Tell me to stop if it’s too much.”

Jack nodded. He gripped the bedspread with both hands as the other man hooked his legs over his shoulders and spread him apart with his thumbs. He felt the warm, firm head of Gabe's cock pressing against the sensitive opening of his asshole. His blue eyes fluttered shut. He panted and whimpered through wet, parted lips as the rigid length of it squeezed gradually inside him.

Once hilted firmly to the base of his cock, Gabe held still for a moment, allowing Jack to acclimate to being filled up this way. When he finally began to thrust, rocking slowly in and out of him, it felt so good, Jack found himself wanting to cry, which made no sense to him. It hurt, but not more than he had wanted. It was exactly what he’d been hoping for. The pain was an inextricable part of the deep, visceral pleasure of being impaled on this man’s big, thick cock.

As much as he’d fantasized about Gabriel, he’d expected actually having sex with a man to be strange and alien, but it all felt so natural and almost _familiar_. Maybe he’d been gay, all along. He’d been with a few women casually, when his unit been in the field too long without a fight and he had aggression to burn off, but that was simple, mechanical release. He hadn’t enjoyed it any more or less than other forms of exercise. He had only ever felt real sexual desire as a separate and independent thing in relation to Gabriel. In any case, there was certainly no going back to women now. Not after the dizzy, exhilarating pleasure of being fucked out of his senses and made to shake and sweat and lose control like this.

“Gabriel—Gabriel,” he panted. “Harder! Fuck me!”

Gabriel obliged, pressing forward on his thighs and thrusting harder and faster. He wrapped a hand around the blonde’s rigid, leaking cock. This was enough. Jack arched his back, gave a strangled cry, and came instantly, spurting thick, white streams up his stomach and chest. Gabe snarled and took him by the throat, pounding him savagely, pumping his own violent, intense ejaculation deep into Jack’s convulsing rectum. Then he lowered himself slowly onto Jack’s trembling, sweat-soaked body and laid there feeling his heart pound against his chest.

To be with Jack like this—to be inside him again, to feel his naked skin and hear his beautiful voice calling out his name again—it was nearly more than he could bear. His powerful body shook with the effort it cost him to hold back the torrent of emotion that ached to come bursting through.

Jack didn’t seem to notice. He was already dozing under his friend’s warm, solid weight. Gabe lifted his head and gazed into that dear, precious, beautiful face.

“Jack,” he said softly. “Do you want me to sleep here?”

“Hmmm. Hm?” Jack said drowsily. His blue eyes flickered open and he smiled. “Oh, right. I guess you’d better not. We’ve got to be back at the UN early tomorrow. But we should do this again some time. It was really amazing.”

Gabe’s vision nearly went black with the pain of this cool dismissal. He was unable to think or respond in any way. He dragged himself numbly out of bed and got his clothes on without seeing them or knowing how he did it. He said goodnight to Jack on auto-pilot, and the next thing of which he was conscious was being hunched over the toilet in his own room, dry-heaving till he saw stars.

Angela had prepared him—as if anyone could be prepared for such gut-wrenching horror—for Jack’s condition, but it hadn’t fully rooted itself in his mind. He’d clung to the slender thread of hope that his husband would remember. That seeing his face would bring back some fragment of his shattered memory. That all those years, their lives, their _love_ could not be lost beneath the ice forever. When he’d seen the cheerful, vacant smile and heard his beloved Jack call him “Lieutenant Colonel Reyes,” his heart had died in his body.

He dug the chain out of his pocket and fastened it around his neck with trembling hands. The heavy platinum band clinked against the ceramic toilet seat as he doubled over retching again.

 

 

 

“I like the kid, Gabe, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t know anything about him. You’re talking about giving him access to a huge amount of incredibly classified information, not to mention people in central political positions.”

“He’s a Blackwatch agent now, Jack. He’s been thoroughly vetted by our intel.” Gabe removes the lid from a pot on Jack’s stove and stirs the contents, turning down the heat a little. “Besides, Jesse trusts him.”

“Jesse trusts him,” Jack says dubiously. “That’s seriously your argument.”

“Yeah, baby, and you know it’s a good one. If you had a problem with the idea, why didn’t you say so when I brought it up over lunch?”

“How was I supposed to do that with the kid sitting right there? I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.”

“That’s very sweet, Jack, but he’ll know it’s you who vetoed it anyway. Hand me the garlic.”

Jack opens the cupboard and holds out a spice jar to Gabe, who stares at it as if Jack has offered him a live serpent.

“Jack,” he says, pointing an accusing wooden spoon at the jar. “What the fuck is that?”

Jack looks at the label, then back at Gabe. “Garlic.”

“That’s garlic _powder_ , my dear soon-to-be ex-husband. Why the fuck is it in your kitchen?”

“For…cooking?”

“Oh, ok,” Gabe nods. “Let me see it?”

Jack, perhaps a bit naïvely, hands him the jar. Gabe turns on his heel and strides quickly across the living room to the balcony door.

“Gabe, what are you doing?” Jack calls after him, as the door slides open. “Gabriel Reyes don’t you fucking dare! What if it hits someone!”

“Then it was their time to go!” Gabe calls back.

“Gabe, god damn it!” Jack says, dashing for the balcony.

He arrives just in time to watch the little glass cylinder go hurtling away, propelled far off into the night by Gabe’s superhuman strength.

Jack crosses his arms and glowers at his husband. “Are you pleased with your choices, Commander Reyes?”

“Exceedingly,” Gabe says, sauntering back inside.

Jack follows him into the kitchen and leans on the counter, watching as Gabe retrieves a little dish of freshly minced garlic from the refrigerator. He stirs it into the cast-iron pot containing his simmering mélange of meat and seasonings, then replaces the lid.

“I’m just going to buy more garlic powder, you know,” Jack grumbles.

“Jack, if I find garlic powder in your kitchen again, I will buy the company that makes it and have them shut down,” Gabe replies. “How can you stand to put that fucking sawdust in your food?”

“It’s still garlic!” Jack says, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “It’s just dried out! What is the difference, Gabe?”

“Come here, mi sol,” Gabe says. He beckons to Jack and lifts the lid. “Smell this.”

Jack leans over and inhales the aroma steaming up from the bubbling pot. “Jesus. That smells really fucking good.”

“Exactly. That’s meat, fat, salt, and spices interacting with heat. Just a few basic elements. If you respect your dish enough to use fresh, quality ingredients, you don’t need anything fancy or complicated. It’ll always be delicious.”

“Ok, fine. I won’t buy any more garlic powder. But what am I supposed to put on top of my mac and cheese?”

Gabe stops and stares at Jack in undisguised horror. “John Patrick Morrison, if there is boxed macaroni and cheese in this house—”

“It’s not a house, Gabe, it’s a military installation, and of course there’s no mac and cheese. If there was, I’d be eating that instead of listening to you lecture me about garlic powder.”

Gabe mutters a stream of Spanish profanity to himself as he lays down the cutting board and begins to slice into an avocado.

“So, what about Ben,” he says to Jack, who is setting the table. “Can he shadow you to meetings or not?”

He shakes his head. “I just don’t know, Gabe.”

“Listen, it’s your call,” Gabe shrugs. “But he has to spend as much time with you as he can, so if he can’t do that during duty hours, it’ll have to be off duty. That means we won’t get much time alone, and—”

“Wait, wait, hang on,” Jack says turning hastily and almost dropping a plate. “You know, now that I think of it…having him come to those meetings is probably a good idea anyway.”

“Oh, do you think?”

“Yeah, it’ll give him…insight into how we operate and what we have going on, the type of language we use—all that stuff. It uh…makes sense.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear you’ve suddenly become so reasonable about it, Jack. Tell me, does it have anything to do with the fact that his presence after duty hours might interfere with you fucking me?”

“It absolutely does,” Jack says. “This job already takes up way too much of my fucking you time.”

“You’re a loose cannon, Morrison,” Gabe laughs, as Jack’s hands slide around his waist. “No bothering me while I’m cooking. ¡Vete a la verga!”

Jack’s hands stay firmly where they are. He leans in and presses his lips to the back of Gabe’s neck, just below the dark line of his close-cropped hair. Gabe ignores him and goes on opening his avocado. Thus encouraged, Jack wraps his arms around his trim midsection and hooks his chin over his shoulder, watching his husband’s capable hands making thick, uniform green slices inside the black skin of one half the avocado. He takes the other half, taps the pit with the knife, twists to pop it out, then cuts the rest of the flesh into the same uniform slices. Jack pushes his nose into the soft skin behind Gabe’s ear and sighs.

“This is taking forever,” he says, grinding his hips against Gabe’s ass. “I’m hunnnngry.”

“Poking at me with your cock isn’t going to make the food cook any faster,” Gabe smirks. “Why don’t you go put on the news or something and quit being a kitchen pest.”

“You’re no fun,” he pouts, withdrawing his arms.

Gabe laughs again as Jack flings himself sulkily onto the white sofa and tells the holovid to put on the Atlas news channel. A brunette woman in a grey suit-jacket is saying something with a very grave expression on her generically-symmetrical face.

“…authorities have not released any information regarding potential suspects. However, cyber security specialists report that due to the complex nature of the attack, and the fact that many of the transactions occurred simultaneously and originated from multiple locations across the globe, the theft was most likely the coordinated effort of a network of hackers. The incident has many questioning whether other banks and credit unions may be vulnerable to similar cyber-attacks. Senior financial correspondent Theresa Novak reports live from…”

“They talking about that thing in Mexico?” Gabe asks.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know what the Mexican government thinks they’re going to find out about it that I haven’t.”

“The hubris of politicians knows no bounds, Gabe. They still haven’t identified the cause of all those deaths a few weeks ago, and they’re calling that a terrorist attack.”

“The thing with the desiccated bodies? I think most of those reports can be chalked up to public hysteria. There’s no solid evidence that any of those people were actually seen alive hours before their bodies were found. Just hearsay.”

“Some of our agents in Central America think it’s legitimate.”

“Yeah, and some of our agents believe they’ve seen the chupacabra. There are idiots everywhere, Jack. We have more important shit to worry about than a string of non-related non-homicides in Mexico.”

“Yes, we do. Like when dinner is going to be ready.”

“Don’t try to rush perfection, mi amor,” Gabe says, coming over and planting a kiss on Jack’s upturned forehead. “It’ll be ready in a little while.”

“Ok, but we’ll have to keep ourselves entertained somehow while we wait.”

“I bet I can think of something.”

Jack watches his husband slink around to the front of the couch. He moves like a lion or some other species of large hunting cat. Heavy and muscular but preternaturally graceful. He wonders if you can be so in love with someone that it actually crushes your heart. Gabe drops softly to his knees and lays his head in Jack’s lap. Jack’s stomach twists with a dull, aching pang of guilt. He swallows it. Pushes it back down where he can ignore it. It won’t matter now. Telling him won’t accomplish anything but to cause him more unnecessary pain.

“Gabe, I…”

“What?”

“Nothing. I love you.”

“I love you too, Jack.”

 

 

 


	100. 24+76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry this chapter took so long. It was a hard one for...a lot of reasons that won't be clear right away. Anywhoo, some really lovely people started an awesome Discord server for people who like this story, or R76, or just chilling with cool people in general, and we'd love it if you'd join. Not to brag or anything, but we have a Dad Jokes channel. So. Basically the greatest server of all time. 
> 
> https://discord.gg/z7z65Zn
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> ______________

 

_What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder._

 

 

“It was a fucking travesty,” the Strike-Commander seethed, gripping the balcony railing with white knuckles. “They give me ostensible authority over an agency with this much broadly-sweeping power, and then call me very publicly to heel the moment I use it? I didn’t sign up to be their fucking lapdog.”

“That’s not what we intended, no,” his second-in-command shrugged, concealing his equally intense wrath beneath his usual air of aloof detachment. “But we both knew it was a distinct possibility.”

“What do they want from me, Gabe?” the Strike-Commander asked, turning to his companion with an exasperated gesture. “Do they really just want us to be history’s most expensive marching band? Do they expect me to trot out my troops for the cameras and promise the world they can count on us, and then not lift a finger to actually honor that promise? How can people trust us if they see us standing by and doing nothing when there is literal genocide going on? They’ll lose faith in us and they will be right to.”

“I don’t know if it’s that extreme, Jack,” Gabe said. “I don’t think there will be much public outcry over this, in any event. Most people won’t think of destroying Omnics, even en-masse, as genocide. A lot of people don’t even think destroying one of them counts as murder.”

“It still doesn’t, in most places,” Jack said, shaking his head. “And yet they admit that Omnics have free will and adequate mental capacity to be held accountable for their actions under the law. Where is the logic in that? Where is the justice? It’s this same kind of flawed dichotomy that allowed people to rationalize total subjugation of other races all throughout history.”

He returned his gaze to the stars, glimmering like tiny icicles in the black sky above the pristine, white crowns of the Swiss alps. Gabe leaned on the railing beside him, drawing a slow drag from his cigarette and exhaling a lazy plume of smoke into the clear night air, doing his best to relax in the heavily-starched blue uniform he’d been required to wear for their meetings at the UN.

Jack wore it with natural ease, but to Gabe it felt restricting and claustrophobic. Like a little mobile prison made of stiff fabric. Not to mention it looked absurd on him, with his scarred, dark-bronze skin and rakish facial hair. But it suited Jack like it had been designed just for him, which in fact, it had. The blues and golds had been chosen to reflect Jack’s sea-blue eyes and sunshine-blonde hair, and the specific cut to flatter his tall, trim-waisted, broad-shouldered frame. Not as tall and broad-shouldered as Gabe’s, but sharper and more agile.

He stole a glance at Jack from the corner of his eye. He did look magnificent in it. Heroic and wholesome, and superhumanly handsome. There was a reason they made him the face of this organization.

“The bottom line is that the actions taken were technically legal under the statutes of that government,” he said at last. “I hate being hamstrung by political bullshit too, but if they want to tie our hands with a bunch of red tape, what can we do?”

“You’re right. There’s nothing we can do. For now, at least.” Jack turned to face him again, reaching out and absently tugging on the lapel of Gabe’s uniform. “What are you doing tonight? Are you busy?”

“No, I’m free,” Gabe said, drawing out his phone to check the time. “It’s 19:30 and neither of us have eaten since before we left for the UN this morning. Why don’t you let me take you to dinner.”

“Yeah, ok,” Jack nodded. “I’d like to shower and change, though. Meet me downstairs in a half hour?”

“Half hour. Got it. Oh, and I’m picking the place, so dress nice, huh?”

Gabe grinned at Jack’s eye-roll and went briskly to his quarters to shower and change. He chose a black mock-turtleneck and a grey blazer, which he wore with tight black jeans and black chukkas. Casual, but all his clothes were custom-tailored, so definitely classy enough for a dinner out. He glanced at his phone again on his way down to the lobby. 19:55. Good. Right on time. As he stepped off the elevator, he stopped in his tracks. Jack had gotten there first (of course) and he looked stunning (also of course), in a deep crimson button-down shirt and grey slacks, with a black pea coat over all.

He caught Gabe staring and raised an eyebrow in mock disapproval. “Got something to say, Reyes?”

“You clean up nice,” Gabe grinned. “Who knew?”

“I bet you’d clean up nice, too,” Jack replied innocently. “You should try it some time.”

“Not a chance!” Gabe said, stroking his goatee with the air of a protective parent. “I’m like Samson. If I shave my facial hair, I lose all my power.”

Jack laughed and gave him a hearty slap on the back as they strolled out the car. Gabe gave the address to the driver, and they climbed into the back for the drive into Geneva. He found that the Strike-Commander seemed to mostly want to talk about work, which irritated him for a reason Jack wouldn’t understand. He nodded politely and even pretend to listen, only looking out the window every now and again, in order to stop himself openly ogling his gorgeous, blonde commanding officer.

The restaurant Gabe had chosen was a ridiculously posh French place overlooking the waters of Lake Geneva, where they were ushered into a sort of private dining room in the back by an ebullient and obsequious Maître D’. As they took their seats at a candle-lit table, Jack commented in passing that it must be a slow night, as there weren’t any other diners present. Gabe ignored the comment and fiddled with his phone as if he’d received a message.

The fact was that there _would_ be no other diners present tonight. Aided by some smooth talking (and an outrageous sum of money), Gabe had persuaded the restaurant’s manager to let him reserve the entire private dining room for the whole evening, on the chance that he’d be able to convince Jack to have dinner with him tonight. He wondered, as the waiter poured the wine he’d chosen, how morally reprehensible it was to trick your amnesiac husband into going out with you on your wedding anniversary.

“This is a really nice place,” Jack said, with a mischievous twinkle in his blue eye. “Is this to make up for the fact that we’ve been fucking for almost two years and you have yet to take me on a proper date?”

“You, uh…I—” Gabe flushed as crimson as his dusky complexion would allow. “You said you weren’t into dating. I was respecting your boundaries.”

“I’m just fucking with you, Gabe,” Jack laughed. “Are you ok? You’re acting weird.”

“I’m fine,” Gabe said, avoiding Jack’s eye. “I’m just…hungry.”

Jack’s grin broadened and his blonde eyebrows shot up. “Wait…is this a date, Commander Reyes? Did you hoodwink me into a date?”

Despite the icy knives Jack was blithely driving into his soul, Gabe managed to adopt the same bantering tone.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he shrugged. “To be honest though, this was a lot of work, so I hope you’re planning on putting out.”

“Maybe. We’ll see how good the food is.”

“If you’re basing that decision on the quality of the food, be prepared to blow me under the table. I picked this place for a reason.”

“I keep forgetting,” Jack said, squinting thoughtfully. “What’s the proper dining etiquette? It goes: soup, entrée, blowjob, main course, right?”

Gabe’s smile turned genuine then, and he laughed, crinkling the corners of his dark-brown eyes and softening his austerely handsome features. Despite the impassable chasm between them, sitting here with Jack, joking and flirting with each other, was a balm to his lacerated heart. Still, he knew his husband well, and Jack did nothing for pleasure without some professional element mixed in. He had asked him what he was doing tonight with some purpose in mind.

“Alright, Morrison, I know you’re buttering me up for some reason,” he said, eyeing Jack cagily over his wine glass. “Spit it out.”

“You’re right. There is something I wanted to run by you,” Jack said, instantly all business. “It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a long time, but I didn’t want to bring it up in theory until I was sure we had the capability to execute it. I’m sure now.”

Gabe’s curiosity was piqued. He sat forward and gestured for Jack to go on.

“There is a frankly massive reserve of funds in our discretionary budget,” Jack continued. “I went over this with our accountants and attorneys, and they satisfied me that these funds are free to be allocated as I choose. They fall under one unrestricted line item in the budget, the nature of which the UN can’t ask us to disclose. I want to use some of these funds to establish a sub-branch of Overwatch. The existence of this branch will have to be disclosed to the UN, but since its funding will all fall under that discretionary item, its actual operations will remain strictly black-bag.”

“You want to establish…a black-ops division within Overwatch?” Gabe said slowly, uncertain he’d even heard Jack saying this. “Jack, you know what that means, correct?”

“I do,” Jack nodded. “It means that this division will be essentially autonomous, operating at the sole discretion of their commander, and that not even I will be briefed on their operations. So, whoever takes the helm will have to be someone I trust with my own life and the lives of all my people. Someone I trust absolutely, without doubt or hesitation.”

“Jack, I—I don’t know what to say.” Gabe hesitated for long beat. “Do you think Ana will even want the job?”

Jack blinked, then burst out laughing. “Gabe, you fucking asshole! Can I please offer you command of your own black-ops unit without your fucking sarcasm?”

“Sorry, Jack,” Gabe said, lifting his hands in mock resignation. “You knew who you were talking to.”

“Yeah, I should have thought of that. But I’m dead serious about this. Would you be willing to take on that kind of additional responsibility? I mean, you’ll have to build the whole thing from the ground up. That includes setting up your offices, recruiting your own people, creating your own training program, establishing guidelines and procedures, all of that. It also means you’ll have to make all the decisions regarding things like, for example, uniform regulations.”

“Fuck me, that’s enough to make me agree to do it right there,” Gabe said, with shaky laugh.

Jack smiled affectionately. He knew his friend so well. “I thought that might tempt you. So, what do you say, Commander Reyes? Do you want to head our black-ops division?”

Gabe folded his hands together on the table, attempting not to appear too eager at the prospect. Jack was literally offering him everything he had wanted from day one. He’d been drafting and redrafting his proposal for just such a division for months, meaning to bring it to Jack once he felt certain it wouldn’t be ill-received. In his version, of course, he didn’t presume to give so much autonomy and personal control to himself, but this…this was a gift. Happy anniversary indeed.

“I would be honored to accept the position, Commander Morrison,” he said, with admirable composure. “But in light of all this, I am going to have to insist that I blow _you_. It only seems fair, considering.”

“Of course,” Jack replied deadpan. “That’ll be one of the primary duties of the position. Why do you think I offered it to you?”

“Jack, listen…I can’t tell you what this means to me,” Gabe said, suddenly earnest and sincere. “And how much it means to me that you trust me with this. So…thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Jack said. “It’ll be your baby and you’ll be the one who’s liable if shit goes south. Any ops you carry out that don’t come directly from Overwatch will have to stay one-hundred percent under my radar. And if you or your agents get caught doing something that’s not strictly legal, I’ll have to publicly disavow your actions in order to protect Overwatch from the fallout. From this point on, anything I know will put all of us at risk. But I trust your judgement completely. I trust you to decide what needs to be done, and do it. There’s no one else in the world I could say that about. You’re…the best man I’ve ever known.”

Gabe almost reached out to take Jack’s hand across the table, feeling the warmth and intimacy of their connection in a way he hadn’t since before the war, but Jack’s next words hit him like a slap.

“You’re my best friend, Gabe,” he said, gazing at his husband with those icy, beautiful, sapphire-blue eyes. “I hope I’m yours, too.”

_My best friend._

_I hope._

_I’m yours._

_Too._

Gabe had no voice to reply, so he nodded into a deep draught of his red wine. Jack didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. He never did. Not when it mattered.

“Hey, go easy on the alcohol,” he scolded playfully, arching a blonde eyebrow. “I still expect that blowjob, you know.”

Gabe made himself agreeable through the remainder of dinner, and even mustered some real enthusiasm as he and Jack discussed their plans for the black-ops unit. Internally, he was torn and bleeding. Jack had just handed him everything he’d ever wanted for his career, and in the next breath, casually reminded him that he’d lost everything that had ever mattered to him personally.

_Jack giveth, and Jack taketh away._

 

But this enough for now, he tells himself, as he swallows Jack’s cock in the back seat of the Strike-Commander’s luxurious, chauffeured car. Everything is ok. Everything will be ok.

 

“Gabe…ah! fuck…just—just like that,” Jack pants, clutching at Gabe’s head with one hand. “I’m so fucking close—”

Gabe draws back, letting Jack’s cock slide out of his mouth with a wet pop.

“No…I don’t think you’re _that_ close,” he says musingly. “I don’t think you get to come till I say. Isn’t that what I told you?”

“But, Gabe!” Jack whines, arching his back against the wall. “You’re torturing me on purpose! It’s not…ah! not fair!”

“Since when have we ever played fair, baby,” Gabe smirks, as he captures Jack’s wrist. “And you’re cheating anyway. How did you get your hands free?”

“I just yanked one out. You didn’t make the cuffs tight en—ah!”

Gabe gives Jack’s nipple a sharp pinch with his teeth as he snaps his erring wrist back into the cuffs behind his back. “How about now? That tight enough?”

“Mmmm…uh-huh.”

Jack’s eyelids flutter shut as Gabe’s mouth closes over the head of his cock again, rough tongue swiping the slit before he dives, swallowing it like he owns it, burying his nose in Jack’s curly, blonde pubic hair, sucking him to the very edge, then pulling away to leave him cold and aching.

“Gabe…fuck!” Jack groans, teased and frustrated past the breaking point. “Fucking fuck me!”

He thrusts his leaking, throbbing cock against nothing and yanks on the cuffs, but to no avail. They were a present from Gabe, custom-made by an engineering concern in Sweden, and not even Jack’s enhanced strength is enough to break them.

“Be patient, cariño,” Gabe laughs. “I’ll get to that.”

He takes hold of the solid bar between Jack’s wrists with one hand and the back of his neck with the other, as if he’s arrested him.

“Knees on the edge,” he grunts, shoving him roughly toward the bed. “Face down. Don’t move till I tell you to.”

Jack steps onto the bed with one knee, then the other, bending over to drop his forehead onto the mattress. Gabe pushes his knees further apart and stands back, admiring the view. Jack is so beautiful like this. Hands cuffed behind him, tight, round sack and perfect cock hanging heavy between his thighs, puckered, pink hole exposed and vulnerable.

He gasps and shivers as Gabe’s tongue laps a warm, wet stripe over the sensitive rim of his asshole. Fuck, he’s missed this. Being restrained and dominated by his husband. Not that he’s minded their recent reversal in the least. Touching every inch of Gabe’s gorgeous body, fucking him so hard it moves the furniture, making those powerful thighs shake as he comes undone. It’s beautiful, thrilling—he’s almost addicted to it—but this…this is home. This is where Jack gets to dive down into that other space and be free.

His mind blanks out, vision going white with the intense overstimulation, as Gabe suddenly pushes two slicked fingers inside him. He scissors them open, probing and stretching the tight ring of muscle till he finds the spot. Jack’s mouth hangs open in a silent moan. He can feel his body thrumming like a plucked guitar string to the rhythm of Gabe’s firm, insistent fingers drumming on his prostate. He can feel his swollen, overheated dick drooling onto the sheets below him, aching for relief. But it’s as if his mind is floating just outside his body, feeling these sensations secondhand, and he has no control over it.

Gabe’s fingers glide out. He’s opening a bottle and spreading Jack’s asshole with his thumb and forefinger. He drizzles a long, clear stream of lube right into it, and Jack feels his body twitch at the sudden, cold shock of the liquid.

“You want me to fuck you, baby?” Gabe purrs. He slots his rigid cock into the cleft of Jack’s ass and drags the warm, heavy shaft up and down, sliding over his slippery asshole in the slick of lube. “Tell me how bad you want it.”

“Please…give—give it to me,” Jack hears himself moan, half-muffled by the mattress. “Give me…all of it…please.”

Gabe pulls back again to get himself aligned, then begins to push his long, thick cock (Jesus, was it always this fucking big?) inside, filling him all the way to the base in one slow, steady plunge. Jack nearly gags as the blunt head connects with the end of his rectum, so deep he can almost taste it.

“Gabe,” he chokes out, in a strangled whisper. “Oh…fuck.”

He whimpers as Gabe withdraws, leaving him raw and empty. A pause. A long, tantalizing beat, then Gabe snaps his hips forward abruptly, slamming into Jack’s ass with a wet thud. Jack arches his back and wails. He is instantly fully present, mind and body on fire with pleasure and pain. Gabe draws back and does it again, harder this time. Then again, hot sparks building in Jack’s belly with each powerful thrust. He takes hold of the bar between Jack’s cuffs and uses his restrained arms as leverage, rutting into his husband like an animal in heat, beating against that soft spot that makes him writhe and moan his name in the filthiest, most beautiful way.

Beads of sweat pour down Jack’s neck and flushed-pink back as Gabe buries his cock to the hilt over and over in the tight, sucking heat of his body. Tears spill down his cheeks and soak the sheet under his face. His legs are beginning to tremble.

“P—please,” he sputters breathlessly, “Gabe…please.”

“Come,” Gabe snarls. He wraps his big, calloused hand around the shaft of Jack’s weeping cock and squeezes. “Come on my cock, baby, come for me.”

Jack comes hard, biting into the mattress, straining against the cuffs till they cut into his wrists, grinding his hips desperately, seizing and convulsing on the shaft of Gabe’s cock, as he spurts thick, milky fluid all over sheets below him. Gabe lets him ride out his climax till his spasms subside, then he pushes him flat on his stomach in his wet mess and resumes hammering him mercilessly.

Jack is entirely gone now, floating, blissed-out and high on Gabe’s dominant, sexual aggression as he fucks him into his bed. Gabe’s thrusts grow faster and more erratic until suddenly he yanks out his cock and Jack feels him come, spattering his back and ass in hot, rapid bursts. He gives a low groan and collapses on top of Jack, blanketing him beneath his warm, solid body.

“Are you gaining weight, Gabe?” Jack pants. “You’re so—fucking heavy. Jesus.”

“Shut…the fuck up,” Gabe mumbles, nuzzling his face into Jack’s blonde hair. “You’re…heavy.”

Jack gives a croaky laugh. “Hey! Don’t fall asleep on me wide-load, you’ll flatten me!”

“Maybe I want to,” Gabe croons, rocking back and forth and making sure to press his full weight down on Jack. “Maybe I’m trying to make you into my own little Jack pancake.”

“Gabe…don’t you mean—”

“Jack, I swear to the sweet lord baby Jesus, if you say—”

“Flapjack?”

“That’s it. I want a fucking divorce.”

“Pfft. You can’t divorce me,” Jack retorts. “I’m your boss. I won’t let you.”

“Fine,” Gabe says, pushing himself to his feet. “Have fun with those cuffs while I take my shower.”

“Wait—what? God damn it, Gabe!” Jack shouts after him, as he saunters off to the bathroom. “This is disproportionate! It was one pun!”

Gabe comes back with a towel in his hand. “There is no such thing as a disproportionate retaliation to your puns, Jack.”

Jack stares at him, blue eyes wide and innocent. “Don’t you mean _punishment_?”

Gabe blinks, opens his mouth, shuts it, then wheels around and disappears out the door, taking the towel with him.

“Aw, Gabe, come on!” Jack calls out, through a fit of laughter. “You handed me that one! Gabe!”

 

 

 

Gabe is at his desk looking over the Blackwatch sector security breach report, when his office door swings open without a preceding knock.

“Hey, boss,” Claudia says briskly, shutting the door behind her. “We have to talk.”

Gabe looks perplexed. “Hey, Claws. Ok, have a seat. What’s up.”

Claudia sits in the chair across from him at his desk and takes a deep breath. “Sir, I want to know why you rejected Jesse’s case concerning Agent Lacroix’s death and Madame Lacroix’s disappearance.”

Gabe leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “Did Jesse tell you about that?”

“No, sir,” she says, looking down and fidgeting with her hands. “The file was on the desktop of your computer. I saw it there when Chief Lindholm and I were going over the incident log and…well, I read it.”

He sits gazing at her for a moment, as if waiting for more. “And?”

“And Agent Lacroix was one of our own, boss!” She says, a little too emphatically. She can already feel heat rising into her cheeks. “If he was killed by a Talon—”

“Amélie Lacroix was not a spy,” Gabe says flatly.

“Boss, I know you were friends,” she says, leaning forward earnestly. “Agent Lacroix was my friend, too. But isn’t that even more reason to want to get to the bottom of this?”

“Claudia, listen very carefully to what I am telling you,” Gabe says slowly, as if he is speaking to an erring child. “Amélie Lacroix. Was not. A spy.”

Claudia stares back at him in frank disbelief. Can he really be so blinded by his loyalty to his friend, despite the clear evidence that she murdered her own husband, who was also his friend and one of his own agents?

“But sir,” she insists, “I’ve read the report. Jesse thinks—”

“Jesse is well aware of my position on the matter,” he cuts her off. “If he’s continuing to pursue it on his own, he’d better not let me hear about it. Now, if that’s all, I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Claudia is stunned by this flat dismissal. She has no idea what to do now.

“Yes…sir. That’s all,” she says numbly, rising from her chair.

As she opens the door to go, Gabe stops her with a word.

“Claudia, tell Jesse that if he keeps digging into the Lacroix case, I had better not find out about it, ok?”

“Uh…yes, sir,” she says, confused and a little offended that he’d feel the need to repeat this. “I’ll let him know.”

Gabe sits gazing at the door for a moment after she leaves, then returns to the incident report on his screen. There is an accompanying list of forty-seven possible scenarios to explain the error, some involving… _time travel_? Torbjörn must have been screwing around with Athena’s—whatever the fuck system does predictive data analysis. He taps a button on his desk phone and tells the A.I. to put him through to Chief Lindholm.

 

 

 

The rectangular device in Angela’s hand hums to life as she taps the screen. She makes some kind of adjustment and then comes to the bedside.

“Alright, try to lie still,” she says. “It will take just a moment.”

She holds the device over his head, taps the screen again, and then slowly draws it along the entire length of his body. It makes a satisfied chirp and she smiles.

“All done. That was not so bad was it?”

“Of course not,” Jack says returning the smile. “It’s just a scan. They don’t hurt.”

“You seemed…anxious.”

“I can’t help it,” he shrugs. “I don’t like thinking about how—”

The device makes a different sound. Less like a pleased chirp and more like an annoyed tsk. Can medical devices be pleased or annoyed? This one seems to have so much personality.

“What was that for?” he asks. “It didn’t sound happy.”

Angela frowns at the screen and taps it a few times. Jack gets the sudden, bizarre impression that she is scolding a square, grey animal made of plastic and glass. He is not hallucinating, of course. The scanning device does not change visually. It’s just a strong _idea_. He shakes himself and waits for her to reply.

“It is not happy,” she says at last. “It is doing…something odd. Some sort of an error processing your scan.”

“Do we need to do it again?”

“Hm? Oh, no. The error is in the device. Another scan would likely get the same result. I will have to recalibrate this thing and we can try again next week. It is rather old.” She smiles sweetly. “You can get dressed, now. That is all we need to do today. Unless there is anything you would like to talk about.”

“Well, nothing medical,” Jack says. He hops up and pulls on his underwear as she sits at her desk to type a note into her terminal. “But I was wondering…what do you think of Gabe bringing on this boyfriend of Jesse’s to work for us? Doesn’t it seem a little weird?”

“Weird?” she says, arching an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure. It’s like he’s doing something other than what he says. You know?” He buttons the fly of his pants and begins to tuck in his shirt. “It feels…forced somehow.”

“I suppose I can see that,” she says thoughtfully. “But if you think your husband is being dishonest with you, then you should speak to him about it.”

“Not personally dishonest. I think it’s something related to Blackwatch. Our positions basically require us to lie to each other, so I understand why he would hide something like that, but it never feels good.”

“I think both of you should be more open with one another. Personally and professionally.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know how wide I want to open the full-disclosure door,” Jack says, straightening his collar. “That doesn’t lead anywhere good.”

“Jack, listen to me. You need to tell him.”

“No,” Jack says, shaking his head. “You know I can’t.”

“Jack, he will find out one way or another. And when he does, he will blame me, like he always does. Even though everything I have done, you have asked—”

“This was the one thing I didn’t ask you for, Angela,” Jack interrupts. “I didn’t ask you to do this to me.”

She sighs wearily. “What was I supposed to do, Jack? Was I supposed to let you die?”

“No. You were supposed to let me stay dead.”

Angela crosses her arms and turns her large, ice-blue eyes on him. “I was supposed to let you stay dead. And let Gabriel live without you, knowing that you chose death over him? Knowing that you would let him suffer alone because you were afraid to face yourself? Is that what you are saying, Jack?”

“I wasn’t afraid,” Jack says flatly. “I was tired and I was in pain. And now…I’m never _not_ tired. I’m never not in pain.”

“I thought Master Zenyatta was helping you with the pain.”

“He is. But whenever he’s not with me, I’m a walking time-bomb. I can’t trust my own brain anymore. Whatever is left of it, anyway. How much of it is even my own?”

“Sixty-two percent. More than enough for—”

“Yeah, I know. More than enough for me to have survived. But I didn’t, did I.”

“You died from blood-loss, Jack. Not brain trauma.”

“What’s the difference?”

“The difference is that you are still you. You are still Jack.”

He shakes his head. “You say that, but…how can you know?”

“Because the strain I used to repair your brain tissue was not capable of restoring your personality and memory. They are not a neural network operating under a single directive like Noah’s were. If you were no longer Jack, you would be in a vegetative state. That is simply the way it is.”

“I…know that,” Jack says. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. “I’m sorry, Angela. I shouldn’t keep dragging this out and rehashing it like this.”

“No, no, it is alright. I…care about you so much, Jack,” she says, her voice softening with emotion. “I want you to be happy so badly. It breaks my heart to hear you say that you wish you had died.”

“I did die, Angela,” Jack says, mildly this time, and without the bitterness with which he’d expressed a similar sentiment a moment ago. “But you saved me, and I am grateful for that. For Gabe’s sake, at least.”

“Thank you, Jack.”

He lays his hand on hers for a moment, then turns to go.

“Oh, same time Monday, alright?” she says, as he opens the door. “I will get this thing calibrated and we will redo your scan.”

“Sure thing,” he says cheerfully, already back in Strike-Commander mode. “See you Monday.”

After Jack leaves, Angela picks up the device and calls up the result on the screen again. She knows logically that staring at it won’t change anything, but she does anyway, cradling her head in her hands and reading it over and over again.

HEA-MJ01 NS Scan Cerebral Mass

VKNS0076: 33%

VKNS0024: 04%

*ERR UNRNS: ~01%

“Unrecognized strain,” she mutters to herself. “What have you done, you old demon?”

 

 

 


	101. Disneyland

Lieutenant Benjamin Hunter arrives at the Strike-Commander’s office at 0700 on the dot, in his snug, stiffly-starched blue uniform and glossy black boots, feeling not at all prepared for his first day. A pretty brunette woman in a similar blue uniform stands to greet him and shakes his hand heartily.

“Lieutenant Hunter,” she says, smiling cordially. “I’m Captain Beckett, the Strike-Commander’s PA.”

“Captain Beckett,” Ben smiles back. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise. So, I’ll be overseeing your training,” she says, as she steps back behind the desk. She picks up a tablet and hands it to him as she speaks. “That basically means you’ll be following me around and watching what I do. Sorry about the informal structure, but this was kind of a short-notice thing. I wasn’t expecting the Commander to throw a promotion at me all the sudden. Not that I’m ungrateful, but jumping up to field-grade means more OTC, so I hope you’re a quick study. We’ve only got a week to get you up to speed.”

“I hope so, too,” Ben says nervously. “I don’t really have much experience with this kind of thing.”

“Oh, there’s not a lot to it,” she says, then corrects. “Well, there is a lot to it, actually, but none of it is really that complicated. It’s just a lot of things to balance and keep in mind at once. I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it. Have a seat.”

She indicates to the blue sofa across from her desk and comes to sit beside him with her own tablet.

“This is going to be your lifeline, so get to know it as well as you can. If you could get it surgically attached, I’d recommend it.” Her screen glows to life as she taps it, and Ben does the same. “I’ve had Athena load the Commander’s calendar onto yours already—there, that one with the blue star—along with a bunch of notes about things that may come up and how to handle them. The first thing you’ll want to do is familiarize yourself with the calendar. You’ll be in charge of keeping his schedule organized, so when he’s had Athena change something, you’ll get a little ding and a popup to alert you so you can make adjustments. That happens a lot, so always be on top of checking them. He’s pretty independent about making and changing his own appointments, which is a blessing and a curse. You won’t have to schedule too many things for him, but when you do, you can usually count on rescheduling them around changes he’s made.”

Ben nods, following along as best he can as she flicks through different days, filled with color-coded blocks of time, representing the Commander’s expected whereabouts and activities for the next three months. There are a staggering number of them. Each day looks like a patchwork quilt and Ben wonders when the man sleeps or eats.

She smiles cheerfully. “Any questions so far?”

Ben looks up at her and shakes his head. He’s a little embarrassed by the position he’s in now. He’s been to college and he’s as handy with tech as anyone his age, but he’s never worked in an office before and certainly not as a personal assistant to the commander of a military organization. His mind should be buzzing with questions, but he doesn’t even know enough to know what to ask. Fortunately, this seems to be fine with Captain Beckett.

“Alright, moving on,” she says, closing the calendar. She taps a red icon that looks like a spiral-bound notebook. “These are the notes I’ve compiled for you regarding his general daily routine, things he likes and dislikes, how to deal with certain people, et cetera. Oh, uh, one thing. He and Commander Reyes argue a lot. They really get into it sometimes. I mean like, shouting…they even get physical. But that’s just the way they are. If Commander Reyes is in with the boss, do not interrupt them unless the building is actually on fire. I am serious.”

“Not unless the building is on fire,” Ben says, just managing to suppress a smile. He wonders how much of that is actual arguing. “Got it.”

“Yeah, and I mean like, you should actively see the flames. Anyway, the rest of this stuff you can read through tonight and we’ll go over any questions you have about it tomorrow. Right now, it’s time to bring the boss his coffee. You can deliver it and we’ll introduce you two. Shall we?”

Captain Beckett pours black coffee from a pot on the counter into a rather worn and chipped ceramic mug that reads “#1 Dad” in faded blue comic-sans lettering. Ben tucks his tablet under his arm to take the cup of coffee and follows her to the Strike-Commander’s open door. He steps in quietly behind her, casting his eyes about the expansive office and feeling absurdly out of place.

Behind a large, imposing, dark-wood desk at one end of the room is the Strike-Commander. In this setting, wearing his iconic blue uniform, he looks every bit the stern and heroic military leader that he does on the television broadcasts. Ben almost can’t reconcile the man he sees now with Jack, the warm, personable, funny man he’d spent time with on their flight to England. His blonde brow is furrowed and his ice-blue eyes are fixed intently on his computer monitor. He doesn’t seem to notice that someone has come in. Captain Beckett bids him a cheerful good morning, and the Commander looks up with a little start, then hops up from his seat.

“Morning, Beckett,” he says. He holds out his hand to shake Ben’s. “Lt. Hunter, correct? I hear you’re going to be filling in for Beckett while she’s off at OTC.”

“Good morning, Commander,” Ben says stiffly, setting the coffee down on the desk and shaking the proffered hand. “Yes, I will be filling in for Captain Beckett, sir.”

“Wonderful,” Jack says, with that bland, Strike-Commander smile. “I know it’s your first day here and it’s probably a bit overwhelming, but Beckett will get you all sorted out. Beckett, take good care of our young agent. And don’t teach him to sass me!”

Beckett looks as innocent as possible. “Who, me? Never, sir. I am the pinnacle of respectful professionalism. Oh, before I forget, the Future Leaders of America people called again yesterday. You really should call them back.”

“But if I call them back, I am going to have to fly the the US and give a speech,” Jack explains. “And I hate doing that.”

“Well, then tell them you can’t make it this year. It’s not the end of the world, boss.”

“What? And disappoint all those kids? I’m surprised at you, Beckett.”

“You know me, sir,” she laughs. “I’m a real asshole. Speaking of which, you have a meeting with the senior staff at nine. We’ll come get you.”

“Thanks Beckett. And Hunter, why don’t you let me take you to lunch today. We can get better acquainted and talk about the job.”

“Oh, uh…yes, sir,” Ben says, blushing beneath the holomask. “Thank you, sir.”

He follows Beckett back out to the reception area, annoyed with himself for being so awkward. They spend the next hour or so familiarizing Ben with Captain Beckett’s procedures for answering calls, taking messages, and dealing with members of the press, most of which Ben is able to learn by practical observation, as the phone nearly rings off the hook from the moment Beckett has Athena open the line for the day. Before he knows it, it’s time for the staff meeting, and Beckett goes to summon the Commander while Ben takes a moment to splash some water on his face and use the restroom.

The Strike-Commander’s imposingly large chair sits on a hover base at the head of a massive, glass-topped table in a huge conference room. The vaulted ceiling is treated with sound-dampening covers like a concert hall, and one wall is all windows overlooking the Swiss countryside. Ben and Captain Beckett take seats in a couple of regular metal and fabric chairs behind and a little to the right of the Strike-Commander’s seat.

“This is the notes application,” Beckett tells him quietly, as uniformed staff begin to file in. “Athena will record it all anyway, so don’t worry about writing down every little thing. These meetings move pretty fast, so I just type a reference word or phrase, then check the time-stamp on my note against the recording to get the full details later.”

Ben nods and opens the corresponding application on his tablet, trying not to look at Gabe, who has just come striding in and taken the seat at the table on Jack’s right. Gabe, however, turns around and looks right at him.

“Morning, Beckett,” he says, flashing a rakish grin. “Got yourself a trainee, huh?”

“Yes, sir,” Beckett says. “This is Lt. Hunter. He’ll be filling in for me while I’m at OTC.”

“Where you from, Lieutenant?” Gabe asks, eyeing Ben suspiciously. “I haven’t seen you around.”

“He’s from our Vancouver field office,” Beckett replies for him. “Commander Morrison selected him personally.”

“Looks a little young, to me,” Gabe shrugs. “But, Jack is the boss. I guess he knows best. Good luck, Hunter. You’re gonna need it.”

“I _am_ the boss,” Jack cuts in. “Leave the kid alone unless you have something pleasant to say, Commander Reyes.”

Gabe snorts. “When have I ever had anything pleasant to say?”

“In recent memory?” Jack says, drumming his fingers on the table. “Hm…no, nothing comes to mind.”

“See? I’m consistent,” Gabe says. “People should learn from my example.”

Jack rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to his tablet, and Beckett gives Ben a significant glance, to which he nods in reply. She seems to think this banter between the commanders is indicative of some hostility between them. Ben knows otherwise, of course, but he keeps his mouth shut.

As Jack opens the meeting, Ben fixes his eyes on his tablet and tries not to feel like everyone in the room is looking at him. They are, of course, since they have never seen Beckett with a companion in tow in all the time they’ve been having these meetings, but he ignores it. He’s used to being stared at. And the mask helps. They’re not really looking at Ben Pelletier, they’re looking at the dark-haired, pleasant-faced Lt. Hunter, a young Overwatch agent who absolutely knows what he’s doing and is definitely supposed to be here.

“Good morning everyone,” the Strike-Commander says briskly. He gestures behind him. “This is Lt. Hunter. He’ll be helping out while Captain Beckett is attending OTC. First on the agenda, Major Torres has an update from the South and Central American bureaus. Major Torres, when you’re ready.”

Relief washes over Ben, and he is immensely grateful to the man for not subjecting him to an embarrassing introduction. As the meeting proceeds and each of the officers gives their briefing, he finds his anxiety dissipating in his immense interest in what he’s hearing. He takes thorough and copious notes, without Beckett having to prompt him. By the end of the meeting, he’s got several pages filled and his head is swimming with exciting ideas and information. He’d understood logically how powerful Overwatch is, but only now is he beginning to grasp the actual reach of this long arm of the international law. It is astounding. Maybe this job isn’t going to be so bad, after all. At the very least, it will be interesting.

 

 

 

 

Jesse waits till the boss departs for his staff meeting, then steps over to Claudia’s office. The door is open and she’s at her desk, chipping away at the mountain of paperwork involved in creating a medical team out of thin air. She looks up as he enters.

“Hey Jesse, what’s up?” she asks cheerfully.

“Nothin’ much,” Jesse drawls. “I got a parcel notification from the mail office. You wanna walk over with me and we can grab a cup of coffee on the way back?”

“Yes, absolutely,” she says, tapping a key to save her document. “I could seriously use one.”

Jesse waits politely as she locks her terminal and stows her stack of files. When she gets up, he notices that her usual manner of dress seems to have altered drastically. She’s wearing a dark-grey tank top and tight black pants, with heavy, black, knee-high combat boots. She picks up a black hooded jacket from the back of her chair and zips it on. It fits her trim waist snugly and has a red and white Blackwatch logo embroidered on the front lapel. He crosses his arms and looks her up and down.

“What?” she says.

“What happened to your blues?” Jesse asks. “You have a laundry mix up or somethin’?” 

“No, I just thought it was about time I started dressing like I’m on this team. Silva helped me pick out some new clothes.” Her fair cheeks flush rosy pink and she shifts uneasily. “I look stupid, don’t I.”

“Naw, I like it. You look real nice in black,” Jesse says. “I just—I ain’t realized how, uh…hey you doin’ anything after work?”

Claudia rolls her eyes. “Very funny, Jesse. Come on. Let’s go get your mail.”

“Can’t blame a fella for tryin’,” Jesse grins, pulling the brim of his hat down a little lower. “After you, ma’am.”

As they ride the lift to the main lobby, Jesse casts a sidelong glance at his friend. He wonders if she really thought he was joking, or if that had been her generous way of giving him an out. He guesses it was probably both. His usual practice is to flirt with basically everyone he sees. He gets away with it because he’s young and charming and harmless, and no one really takes him seriously. Even if she didn’t take it for a joke, she’s way too smart to get tangled up with a rascal like him, anyhow.

They exit the main lobby through the back door and head across the large, open courtyard toward the building containing Swiss HQ Materiel Command, which also handles outgoing and incoming post for personnel.

“Hey, really though,” Claudia says, picking up the thread of conversation once they’re outside. “What are you doing tonight? I’d like to work on our little project, if you have time.”

“Yep, I got time,” he nods. “I ain’t found anything new, though. We might just wind up spinnin’ our wheels.”

“That’s ok. Any time we spend with our heads together is better than nothing. Besides, I can’t help feeling like…I don’t know. If I’m not working on it all the time, I’m not doing right by my friend. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, I get ya,” Jesse says. “We can grab some takeout in Eaux-Vives and eat at the flat while we look it over again. Lulu pretty much lives with her boyfriend now and Ben’s gonna be workin’ late trainin’ with Captain Beckett.”

“Sounds good. Thanks for indulging me, Jesse. I know you probably have better things to be doing.”

“Not really,” he shrugs. “I can’t think of nothin’ better than workin’ a case. ‘Specially if it’s important to you.”

The automatic doors slide open and the two enter the post and shipping office. He steps up the counter and gives his ID to the clerk, who scans it and taps his screen.

“Oh yes, Agent McCree,” he says, handing back the ID. “I remember this one. Came in by courier, which isn’t something we see a lot of, especially all the way from Japan. I’ll be right back.”

“Japan,” Jesse says, turning to Claudia. “I guess Genji sent somethin’ and forgot to mention it.”

“I guess he must have. He didn’t say anything to me, either. I hope he—”

Claudia’s mouth snaps shut as the clerk returns with a worn, well-traveled guitar case and lays it on the counter. She looks up at Jesse, who is standing there staring as if he’s been frozen in place.

“Jesse?” she says, touching his arm.

This seems to break the spell. He backs away a step and shakes his head.

“Naw,” he says hoarsely. “Naw, I don’t want it. Send it back.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but it came by special courier,” the clerk says, looking bewildered. “I can’t just return it without—”

“Then toss it in the trash,” Jesse snaps. “I ain’t takin’ it.”

“Sir, if you could just—” the clerk begins, but Jesse has already turned on his heel and is striding out the door. He looks helplessly at Claudia. “I’m not sure I understand what just happened. I didn’t mean to upset him.”

“Oh no, it’s nothing you did. You couldn’t have known,” Claudia says apologetically. “Uh…is there any way you could like…hang onto it for a couple days? I think my friend might cool off and change his mind. If he doesn’t, would you be able to send it back for me by the regular kind of shipping? I have the address and I’ll pay for it and all that.”

The clerk bites his lip thoughtfully. “Well, if you’re willing to sign the receipt so I have a record that it was received, I can stow it in a locker for a few days. Just don’t forget about it.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

“So, if you decide to send it back, you can mail it from here just like any other package. But I’d recommend some packing insulation and marking it as fragile, if it’s going by air and truck.”

“Sure. Whatever you think is best,” Claudia agrees. She signs the receipt and resists the temptation to open the case. “I’ve got to go find my friend. Thanks so much!”

The clerk bids her a friendly farewell as she hurries off after Jesse, then he takes the guitar case to stow it in a storage locker, musing on what strange and interesting lives these Blackwatch agents must lead.

Claudia almost regrets not looking in the guitar case. She’s pretty sure it can’t be his guitar inside, since he’d told her he smashed it to fragments in the boys’ hall. Unless what’s in it _is_ the fragments of the guitar. But she can’t imagine Hanzo being vindictive in such a bizarre way, particularly not after so much time has passed. Still, he should have known better than to think such a thing would be well-received after he’d broken Jesse’s heart and treated him so coldly. Poor Jesse.

She finds him on the ground floor smoking patio. A few diplomats and other well-dressed civilians are scattered about, talking amongst themselves. Jesse is by himself at the far end, sitting on a table with his feet on the bench and puffing on a cigar stub. He sees her approaching and nods.

“Hey Claws,” he says, as she sits beside him on the table. “Sorry I huffed off like that. I didn’t mean to be rude, only I was all wound up and I ain’t thought about it first.”

“Oh honey, don’t be sorry.” She hooks an arm around him and gives him a sympathetic squeeze. “I totally get it. How are you? Are you ok?”

“I reckon I’ll survive,” Jesse says, rubbing his hands together anxiously. “It just come at a sorta bad time, you know?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Ben’s all wrapped up in the new job and Lulu’s pretty much engaged now and me and Genji ain’t been talkin’ like we used to. I just been feelin’ kinda…isolated lately. I can’t really say it better’n that.”

“What about Commander Reyes?” she asks, then winces. This can’t be anything but a sensitive subject at the best of times, and might be a particularly unwelcome one now.

“The boss ain’t got time for no one. That’s just the way it’s always been. I don’t fault him for it or nothin’. But sometimes I wish…” he trails off and puffs on his cigar.

“Wish…what?”

“Sometimes I wish he ain’t ever told me,” he says, eyeing the glowing red ember of his cigar. “About him and me.”

Claudia frowns sadly. “Oh no, Jesse. Why?”

“Well, when he was just my boss, it didn’t make no nevermind when he ain’t had time for me. But like, now I gotta have feelings about it and shit. I know it ain’t his fault he’s my daddy, but if he wadn’t plannin’ on actin’ like it, he shoulda kept it to himself. If he ain’t said nothin’, I’da never knew, and I wouldn’t be feelin’ like such a sad sack of shit about it.”

“What about England? Didn’t you guys spend time with your relatives together?”

“That was what he said we was gonna do. We even had somethin’ we was gonna look into while we was there. But then Jack got sick and all that, and they had to go visit the queen and shit, and then he went off for a whole day with one of his old bosses, so we ain’t seen much of each other. I spent time gettin’ to know my aunt and grampa and baby cousin, so I ain’t complainin’ about the visit, just like…it was supposed to be me and him together, y’know?”

“Yeah, I know,” she sighs. “I’m sorry, Jesse. Have you tried talking to him about it?”

“Naw, I haven’t. I ain’t sure how, I guess.”

“Tell him flat-out that you want him to spend time with you and be your dad,” she says energetically. “I know Commander Reyes is the boss and everything, but you said it yourself: if he didn’t want to act like a dad, he shouldn’t have brought it up. But he did, so he has a responsibility to treat you like a son. It’s totally reasonable for you to expect that, since he set up the expectation himself. I’m sorry if I’m butting in, here, but I care about you so much and I don’t like to see you being treated this way.”

Jesse smiles and pats her knee reassuringly. “Naw, it’s ok, Claws. You ain’t buttin’ in. You been real good to me. I know how busy y’are and how I’m always buggin’ you to cheer my sorry ass up, and I appreciate you bein’ here for me. Thank you.”

“You never bug me and you don’t need to thank me,” she replies staunchly. “You’re an amazing person and I’m grateful that I get to call you a friend.”

“Well, how ‘bout you let me buy you a cup of coffee, then. It’s the least I can do.”

“See, Jesse, this why we’re friends,” Claudia says, pretending to wipe away a tear. “You know what’s really, truly important to me.”

 

When they arrive back at the Blackwatch sector with their coffee, Commander Reyes’ office door is open. He has returned from his meeting and is at his desk, tapping at the screen of his sat-phone. Claudia gives Jesse a nudge and hurries into her own office. Jesse takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and steps into the Commander’s office, shutting the door behind him.

Gabe looks up from his phone. “Hey Jesse, what’s up?”

“Howdy, boss,” Jesse says uneasily. “You got a minute? I wanna talk to you.”

“Sure,” Gabe says. He slides his phone into his pocket and looks at Jesse expectantly.

Jesse sits across from him at the desk. He takes off his hat and runs his fingers through his unruly hair, trying to avoid eye-contact without looking as if he’s doing so.

“Come on, Jesse. Spit it out. I don’t have all day.”

“You never got all day,” Jesse says, with sudden heat. It surprises him as much as his commanding officer, but having begun, he plows resolutely ahead. “You never got any time at all. That’s what I come to talk to you about. You gotta…you just gotta _make_ some time, is what.”

Gabe looks genuinely perplexed. “Jesse, what are you—”

“You said you wanted to be a dad to me,” Jesse interrupts. “You said it right to my face, when we talked about it in Japan. But ever since then, you ain’t paid me no more attention than a fly. Even when we was in England with grampa and aunt Lydia. I don’t give a shit how many complicated schemes you got cookin’, I should be worth makin’ time for.”

Jesse stops to catch his breath, staring miserably down at his hat in his lap. A long beat passes in silence, then Gabe lets out a weary sigh.

“You’re right,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry, Jesse.”

Jesse looks up, searching Gabe’s face as if he hasn’t quite understood what he just said, and is seeking the solution to the puzzle there.

“Yeah…I am right,” he says slowly.

“You are,” Gabe says. “I’ve never been a father, Jesse. The truth is, I don’t know the first thing about how to go about being one. Especially not to a son who’s a grown man already. I want to do this, but I’m really bad at it.”

Jesse eyes him warily. “Well, lucky for you, I got plenty of practice bein’ a son, so I reckon I could steer you around the curves alright.”

“I bet you could,” Gabe laughs. “Just tell me what you need from me and I will do my best to do it. Anything.”

“Anything?” Jesse says, his big brown eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Within reason,” Gabe wisely corrects. “I’ve still got this pesky military unit to run, so you know. No sudden trips to Disneyland.”

“Well, shit.” Jesse throws his hands up melodramatically and flops back in his chair. “That’s exactly what I was gonna ask for.”

“Oh, you were, huh.”

“Maybe. I ain’t never been to Disneyland. It even still there after the Crisis?”

“Against all odds, yes. The world almost ends and yet somehow, Disneyland stands unscathed. I haven’t seen it since way before the war, though. I haven’t been back home in a long time.”

“Now there’s an idea, jefe,” Jesse says, leaning forward again. “I met my mama’s relatives, but I don’t know nothin’ about your family. Why don’t you take me to L.A. and show me where you grew up?”

“I don’t know, Jesse,” Gabe says reluctantly. “It’s not like I have any surviving relatives there. I don’t have a lot of connection to the place anymore.”

“Bullshit, you don’t. You about as SoCal as they come, with them hoodies and shit. You still got your accent and everything.”

“Accent?” Gabe says, raising an eyebrow. “I’m the one with the accent, Huck Finn?”

“Yup. I been tellin’ you how you sound like a surfer since we met, boss. You practically got sand comin’ out your ears. Come on, take me to L.A. I promise I’ll be real good and I won’t pester you for cotton candy or nothin’.”

“Cotton candy?”

“At Disneyland. We gotta go, if we’re gonna be in L.A. anyhow. I can’t miss out on the full California experience, ‘specially since my daddy’s a real-ass L.A. native.”

Gabe crosses his arms and looks Jesse sternly in the eye. “Jesse, we are not going to Disneyland without getting cotton candy. What are we, philistines?”

“I reckon we ain’t, no,” Jesse says, unable to suppress a delighted grin. “And we gotta go on all the rides. Even the dumb ones for little kids. Oh, and I want to go to Hollywood and the beach and I want to see the house where you lived when you was little and everything.”

“Alright, alright, keep your shirt on. I don’t even know if I can get time off, so don’t go making a bunch of plans till I’m sure we can go.”

Jesse makes his eyes as wide and round as possible. “But boss, you gotta take me, now you said it. I’ll be scarred for life if you don’t.”

“I’ll scar you, you little shit,” Gabe grumbles. “Ok, I’ll talk to Jack about it. But no promises.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” Jesse chirps. “I’ll talk to him. I bet I can convince him to let me and my pa have some quality bonding time.”

Checkmate. Both Gabe and Jesse know exactly what Jack’s position will be.

“Ugh, fine,” he says, trying to look displeased. “I guess we’re going to fucking Disneyland. You happy?”

 

 

 

 

“Disneyland?”

 “Yeah. He says he’ll be scarred for life if I don’t take him.”

“Well, I guess you better take him then,” Jack laughs. “Even if you’re both a little old for that kind of thing.”

“Old?” Gabe says, looking wounded. “You watch your mouth, or I’ll make you go with us.”

“Oh, no you don’t! This is a father-son thing. I’ll be fine back here minding the house while you’re away on family vacation.”

Gabe shakes his head mournfully. “I thought I’d gotten away with not having to do all the terrible kid stuff, since he’s already in his twenties. But no, now I have to take him to an amusement park like he’s six.”

“What, you don’t like Disneyland?”

“Fuck no, are you kidding me? That place is a loud, sticky nightmare. I hated it when I _was_ six.”

“I think you were actually born a grouchy old man, Gabe. What kind of kid hates Disneyland?”

“The me kind. You liked it?”

“God, no. It gave me anxiety so bad I had a panic attack in line for Splash Mountain. And that was on our senior class trip.”

Gabe can’t help smiling to himself. It’s so good to see Jack recalling small details of his life like this, with no pain or difficulty. He’s come a long way in these past months.

“You think that’s funny?” Jack says, with mock indignation. “I’ll have you know, crowd-induced anxiety is a very common psychological phenomenon.”

Gabe pulls Jack into his arms. “I’m not laughing at you, baby. It makes me happy hearing about all your little idiosyncrasies. I love everything about you.”

“Nice try,” Jack retorts, trying to squirm free and failing. “Leave approved, Commander Reyes. Have fun at Disneyland with your son.”

“God damn it,” Gabe laughs. “You’re such a fucking hardass.”

“I’ll show you hardass. Why aren’t you naked yet?”

“I literally just walked in the door, baby. I don’t wear tearaway clothes.”

“I really need to look into those uniform regulations.” Jack slides his hands down Gabe’s back and takes hold of his belt. “Your belts are a menace. What is this one even for?”

“Making me look cool.”

“Hm. It must be broken. It’s definitely not doing that.”

“I should probably take it off, then,” Gabe says, leaning down to kiss his neck as Jack unbuckles the offending belt.

“And this one,” Jack says. “Actually, you better lose all the clothes, just to be safe.”

“Sounds reasonable to me. I want to take a shower, though. I’m all gross from working all day.”

“How do you get gross sitting at a desk? You don’t even sweat anymore.”

“It’s psychosomatic,” Gabe shrugs. “I just _feel_ gross.”

“Well, hurry up,” Jack says impatiently, pushing him toward the hallway. “I want to fuck you.”

“Oh yeah? You think you’re the boss of me?”

“Yep. Go. Get that ass all fresh and clean for me.”

Gabe gives Jack a jaunty salute and heads off to the bathroom to shower. Jack goes into the bedroom and strips, then lounges on the bed with his tablet, scanning through field-office reports while he waits. In a few minutes, he hears the shower shut off. Gabe comes in naked, drying himself with a plushy white towel. He stops in the doorway and casts an appreciative eye over his husband’s hard, athletic body.

“Jesus, Jack,” he says, with a dreamy little sigh. “I swear you’re getting sexier. You’re hotter now than you were at twenty-five.”

“I don’t know,” Jack replies doubtfully. “I’ve gotten a lot broader and squarer since then. I thought you liked me all lithe and lean.”

“I did. I like you more now, though. You look like…a man.”

Jack chuckles as he sets his tablet on the nightstand. “Well, I hope so. I am a man.”

“You know what I mean, baby,” Gabe says, climbing to the bed beside him. He slides his palm over the chiseled ridges of Jack’s abdomen. “You’re so sturdy and masculine now. You’re just…everything I’ve always been attracted to in one package. You’re pretty much perfect.”

Jack smiles up at him. “So are you. You’ve always been it for me. I’ve found some people interesting, but I never had any real sexual desire for anyone but you.”

“Well…and Jesse,” Gabe says, with an impish grin.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Jack huffs. “How many times do I have to tell you that was because I was all fucked up over you?”

“I get that, honey, but the guy you picked for comfort was basically a young version of me. You have to understand how I’d find that pretty funny.”

“It’s not funny to me, Gabe. It just…it fucking kills me that I’ve been unfaithful to you that way. Especially knowing you were never with anyone else all that time.”

“Ah, I see. This isn’t about Jesse, is it.”

“No. It’s about the…you know.” Jack gestures vaguely. “I don’t even remember their names, Gabe. Do you understand how fucked up that is? You waited for me for all those years and I didn’t even bother to get the proper names of the women I fucked while I was married to you.”

“You didn’t know, Jack,” Gabe says softly, stroking Jack’s cheek. “You think it’s fucked up that you—a healthy, attractive, single man for all you knew—burnt off some sexual frustration with a couple of strangers? That’s _normal_ , baby. What would be fucked up is if it bothered me. But it just doesn’t. I’m not upset by it, I don’t blame you, and I don’t like you tormenting yourself about it.”

“It was still a shitty thing to do.” Jack sighs and shakes his head. “Whether I knew I was married or not, I still treated other human beings like objects for my personal gratification.”

“Oh, please, Jack,” Gabe says, laughing outright. “What do you think _they_ were doing? You’re one of the hottest men on the planet. I’m sure they were thrilled to oblige you.”

Jack flushes pink. “Well, I mean…I didn’t say I thought they hated it. Just that it was morally—”

“Jack, mi sol, listen to me,” Gabe says, taking Jack’s hands in his. “Morality has nothing to do with it. It was pure biology. The SEP put a bunch of young, physically fit people together in a group, made them stronger and more aggressive with genetic alteration, then exposed them to life and death situations where they had to rely on each other. When soldiers are isolated, bonding with each other in combat, and everyone’s testosterone and adrenaline are off the charts…it’s a sex cocktail.”

Jack wrinkles his nose. “Sex cocktail? Gross, Gabe.”

“Yeah, forget I said that. The point is that you need to stop blaming yourself for something you were basically entrapped into. You weren’t responsible for that. If you want to talk about fucked up, I had all my memory intact and I still kissed that dancer in Paris like a fucking idiot. That’s much worse.”

“No! No, it’s not!” Jack says vehemently. “Kissing one man after I’d been pretty much torturing you for a decade is nothing. Don’t try to out-idiot me, Gabe. You will lose.”

“Alright, baby,” Gabe laughs. “If you’re going to insist, then fine. You’re the bigger idiot.”

“Thank you,” Jack says, tossing his head. “I am very protective of my title. Besides, I still think he was sent specifically to seduce you. I saw the photos of him on the Opéra Nationale website. He did look an awful lot like Noah.”

“Maybe. But I shouldn’t have been such a soft target. My moment of weakness cost him his life.”

“Yeah, well I’m sure the life-expectancy for Talon assassins isn’t great anyway. And if he’d actually hurt one of you, I’d have made sure his death was far less quick and easy.”

Gabe gazes into Jack’s face, admiring the icy ferocity in his blue eyes and the resolute set to his jaw. “You really are getting more beautiful every day.”

Jack arches a blonde eyebrow. “You trying to seduce me, Reyes?”

“Is it working?”

“You tell me.”

Jack guides Gabe’s hand down to his cock and pulls him into a kiss. Gabe catches Jack’s lower lip and nips gently at it as he strokes him hard in his hand.

“Mmm, yep. It’s definitely working,” he says. “Actually, hang on. I better make sure.”

He slides down and takes Jack’s cock in his mouth. Jack gives a little groan and falls back into his pillow, letting one hand rest gently on Gabe’s head as he licks and sucks him eagerly. After a moment, he pushes him away.

“Lie down on your stomach,” he says, pointing to the bed beside him. “I’m gonna fuck you.”

“Ooh, baby. I like when you get bossy,” Gabe grins.

“I know you do,” Jack says sternly. “Now do as you’re told before I change my mind.”

Gabe lies on his stomach, propped up on his elbows. Jack kneels between his legs, spreading them wider, then lingers for a long moment, stroking his cock idly as he gazes down at his husband’s muscular body. His gorgeous, bronze skin, his broad shoulders and powerful back, tapering into v-shape at his narrow waist, right before the round curve of his ass.

He takes hold of that perfect ass with both hands and spreads it apart. Gabe gasps and arches his back as Jack’s hot, wet mouth suddenly covers his exposed asshole. Jack laves his tongue over it, drawing lazy circles around the sensitive rim. He pushes the tip just inside the opening, then withdraws to tease the rim with flicks and long, circular swipes.

“Oh, fuck, Jack,” Gabe pants, gripping the bedspread. “Jesus fuck, baby, you’ll—ah! make me come just like this if you’re not careful.”

“Don’t you dare,” Jack says, pulling back briefly. “You don’t get to come till I say.”

Jack’s tongue pushes past the barrier again, then slides slowly out, pausing to lap at the tight entrance before it dives again. Gabe groans, grinding his throbbing dick helplessly into the mattress as Jack tongue-fucks his asshole till he’s shaking and clenching, begging for his cock. He hisses at the sudden emptiness as Jack’s warm mouth draws away, leaving him spit-slicked and cold, aching for relief.

He opens his mouth to say something, but at that moment, he has the wind knocked thoroughly out of him. He makes a strangled sound in his throat instead, as Jack’s full weight comes down on his back and he penetrates him to the hilt all at once. Gabe’s jaw goes slack and his eyes roll shut, mind obliterated with white-hot pleasure as his insides are impaled on Jack’s long, thick cock. His eyes water at the stinging burn and his body twitches and jerks, attempting to adjust to being speared open so abruptly.

Jack doesn’t give him much time. He’s already sinking his teeth into his shoulder, rocking his hips, steadily thumping the big, blunt head of his cock against Gabe’s prostate. He works a hand underneath Gabe’s stomach and wrings his leaking cock as he fucks him, sliding up and down in the slick on the comforter beneath him.

“Jack, I’m…I’m gonna come,” Gabe gasps. “I can’t—ah! fuck…fuck!”

Jack feels Gabe clamp down on him like a vise as all his muscles tense at once, then shatter as he comes with a long, shuddering wail, spurting all over Jack’s hand in the tight space between his stomach and the mattress. Jack keeps thrusting through the deep, sucking spasms, beads of sweat rolling down his neck and chest, dripping onto Gabe’s velvety skin and pooling between them. Gabe throws a hand back and manages to grab hold of Jack’s thigh.

“Come in—inside me, cariño,” he stammers, pulling Jack into him as best he can. “I want—to feel you come in me.”

Jack wraps his other arm around Gabe’s chest and holds him tightly, pressing their bodies flush against each other as he gives a few more sharp thrusts and goes rigid, cock pulsing as it floods Gabe’s insides with warm, slippery fluid.

“I love you, Gabe,” Jack breathes, pressing kisses into the back of his neck. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, baby,” Gabe laughs softly. They lie there in comfortable silence for a while, riding out the euphoric high. Then he says, “Jack, are you going to fall asleep on me?”

“No,” Jack says hoarsely. “I just…need to stay like this for a minute.”

“Why?” Gabe asks, trying to turn his head to look at him.

Jack hides his face between Gabe’s shoulder blades and mumbles something unintelligible.

“What?” Gabe says. “I can’t hear you, baby.”

Jack raises his head just enough to uncover his mouth. “I said I got a leg cramp, ok? I literally can’t move.”

Gabe bursts out laughing. “What, really?”

“Yes. It’s not funny, Gabe! It really hurts.”

“The fuck it’s not. Did you overextend yourself fucking me, mister super-soldier?”

“Laugh it up, sassy-pants,” Jack retorts. “We’re both stuck till it goes away.”

“Fine with me,” Gabe says. He makes a show of stretching out comfortably under Jack’s solid weight. “I could die like this and I’d die a happy man.”

“Ugh, you’re such a romantic.”

“You like it. I think you’re faking a leg cramp just so you can snuggle me.”

“I can snuggle you any time I want, Gabe. I don’t have to make up injuries to do it.”

“Oh you can, can you?”

“God damned right, I can. You’re mine and I own you. Now stop wiggling around, you’re making it worse.”

“Aw, sorry babe,” Gabe says indulgently. “I’ll go easier on you next time. I forgot you’re a frail old man now—ow!”

He breaks down laughing again as Jack punches him (gently, for all his feigned annoyance) in the ribs.

“There’s more where that came from, asshole,” Jack mutters, nestling his face into the crook of Gabe’s neck.

“I love you, too, Jack,” Gabe says, when he gets his mirth under control.

“Hey, Gabe?”

“Hm?”

“Will you bring me back a Mickey Mouse hat from Disneyland?”

“Fuck you. Yes.”

 

 

 


	102. Glass Figurine

After his fifth fourteen-hour day in a row, Ben is entirely, utterly, and in all other ways exhausted. This past month has been a more thoroughly taxing experience, mentally and physically, than he’d ever expected from an office job. Over the course of the first week, Captain Beckett had gradually stepped back into a support role, allowing Ben to take on the majority of the duties of the position, and instructing him as needed. On her last day, she’d wished him luck and told him he would do great. He disagreed, but he didn’t say it. It was too late, anyway.

He’d been a basket case the first week or so, But now, after being the Strike-Commander’s PA with no safety net for more than thirty days, he is beginning to get the hang of it. And he is, as previously mentioned, more exhausted than he’s ever been in his life. To keep up the appearance that he’s on loan from another bureau, they’ve assigned him temp quarters on one of the Junior Officers’ floors. He’s been staying there during the week, since it’s easier than driving in from Geneva every morning, but tonight, he’s looking forward to sleeping in his own flat in his own bed.

Jesse meets him at the Strike-Commander’s office and they roar off to Eaux-Vives on his beast of a motorcycle. Ben leans heavily on Jesse as they ride the elevator to his floor, and almost stumbles from exhaustion as he leads him down the hall. When they step inside, he blinks and looks about confusedly. For a moment, he thinks they’ve entered the wrong flat.

There is soft guitar music playing on the stereo and some savory and delicious aroma wafting through the air, as if someone has been preparing a meal. The lights are low and there are candles flickering warmly in little, brightly-colored glass jars on the coffee table and counters and windowsills. In the center of the dining table, there is champagne chilling in a silver bucket, and a vase containing a huge bouquet of red roses.

Ben looks up at Jesse, who is grinning ear to ear. “What is all this, Jesse?”

“I wanted to do somethin’ nice for you,” Jesse says, taking his hand and kissing it. “I had a coupla friends help me with a little surprise. I hope it’s ok.”

“It’s more than ok,” Ben says softly. “It’s amazing. You’re amazing.”

Jesse pulls him close and kisses his forehead, then his lips. “You deserve it, sweetheart. But I can’t take the credit for myself. It’s Claws and Silva who’s really amazing. They took off early this afternoon to come over here and set all this up. If Silva’s cookin’ is as good as everyone says, dinner’s gonna be a real treat, too.”

“I bet it will be,” Ben smiles. “I want to change first, though. This uniform is killing me.”

“You go ahead and get comfy,” Jesse says. “I’ll get the food served up so it don’t get burnt. Silva would kill me if I ruined her nice meal by lettin’ it set in the oven too long.”

Ben goes to the bedroom to change as Jesse draws hot dishes out of the oven and sets them on the table, followed by cold accompaniments from the fridge, as per the detailed instructions from Agent Silva. Ben comes back in his soft, grey pajama pants and white t-shirt, and sits down at the table. The golden glow of the candlelight on his fair skin and blonde hair give him an ethereal, almost angelic appearance. Jesse is stunned by how beautiful Ben’s real face is, having got used to the holomask, and he can’t help but stare at him.

Ben smiles bashfully. “What are you looking at me like that for? You’re gonna make me paranoid.”

“You’re so pretty I just wanna look at you all day,” Jesse says, reaching out to caressing Ben’s smooth cheek with his fingertips. “What you doin’ wastin’ your time with a ruffian like me, anyhow?”

“Cut that out, you flirt,” Ben laughs. “You know how handsome you are. You could have anyone you want. Is it so surprising that I’d be into you?”

“I ain’t flirtin’,” Jesse says, still gazing adoringly at him. “I mean I am, but you really are beautiful.”

Ben looks back into Jesse’s long-lashed, amber-brown eyes and feels an odd little wrench in his gut. For the first time, he experiences something like doubt about what he’s undertaken to do. When they change him, when they alter his face to look like someone else’s, he will never just be Ben again. He’ll be a man who looks like Jack Morrison. And Jesse…Jesse will never look at him this way again. The idea makes his heart swell and tears threaten to brim up in his eyes.

He looks away and takes a deep breath to firm his resolve. No matter what Jesse seems to feel for him now, it isn’t love. This is a pleasant, enjoyable distraction, and they have agreed that it won’t go on any longer than both of them are inclined to continue it. It isn’t love, he reminds himself again. This will not change his mind or dissuade him from his purpose.

“Thank you, Jesse,” he says, looking up at him again with a sunny smile. “Let’s eat, huh? I’m literally starving.”

They linger a long time over the superb meal Silva and Claudia have prepared, chatting about work in a dilatory fashion, but mostly concentrating on the food. There are several dishes, all of some Latin extraction and none of which Ben can identify, but they are all stellar. The savory, spicy, tangy, and sweet flavors are perfectly balanced, and each dish compliments the next, adding up to what is truly one of the best meals Ben has ever eaten.

Jesse stows the champagne in the fridge, unopened, since neither of them feel much like drinking, and goes to draw a bath. Ben follows him, feeling sore and heavy in all his limbs again, now that he’s eaten. He slides gratefully into the big, claw-foot tub between Jesse’s legs and lies back on his chest, letting himself be lulled and soothed by the hot water, and by Jesse’s strong arms and solid, reassuring presence.

Even in his room inside the heavily-guarded headquarters of the most powerful military organization in the world, Ben hadn’t felt safe. Not the way he does now, with Jesse here to hold him and make him feel like everything is going to be alright. And it is. Everything is going to be alright.

 

 

 

While other people sleep, Gabe thinks. It has been his custom for many years. His mind operates like a network of powerful processors, and he is capable of simultaneously organizing and attending to many separate and distinct mental tasks. But only when he has some goddamned peace and quiet. Any distraction at all, and he is useless until the interference is eradicated and he can get back on track. The best time for avoiding such distractions is when most people are in bed, and so he had gradually developed this singular habit.

Tonight, he is on the private balcony of the Strike-Commander’s quarters, smoking and running through the multitude of calculations that go into forming his various plans, contingency plans, backup contingency plans, and worst-case scenarios. Thus, when his phone chirps and vibrates in his pocket, diverting his attention from an important consideration, his annoyance is palpable. He yanks the phone out and scowls at the screen. The call is coming from an unknown number with a Japanese country code.

His stormy expression changes to alarm and he puts the phone quickly to his ear. “Reyes.”

“Commander Reyes,” a familiar voice says slowly, in a heavy Japanese accent. Its tone is low and measured, but there is some strain or distress in it, immediately detectable to Gabe. “It is good to speak with you.”

“Hanzo, are you alright?” Gabe says, bypassing the pleasantries.

“I am…well, thank you,” Hanzo replies. “Commander, I must confess that I am once again in need of your assistance.”

Shit. “What do you need, son?”

“I believe that my brother is…preparing to do something very foolish. If he is not hindered, it may place our agreement, as well as myself and my clan in jeopardy.”

“What is he about to do, Hanzo? Do you need me to come out there?”

Gabe hears a sound like a someone knocking on a door in the background, on Hanzo’s end of the call.

“Unless you come soon, I fear there will be little you can do,” Hanzo says quickly, in a hushed tone. “I must go. I will contact you again if I am able.”

Then the line goes dead.

“God fucking damn it,” Gabe growls, jamming the phone back into his sweatpants pocket as he strides quickly inside.

Jack blinks sleepily up at him as he’s pulling on his jeans in front of the closet. “What’s going on? Everything ok?”

“Hanzo. He’s in some kind of trouble and it looks like Genji is involved again.”

“Hanzo?” Jack says, snapping to alertness and sitting up. “What kind of trouble?”

“Didn’t say. He only said he fears that his brother is about to do something that will put him and the clan in danger,” Gabe says, as he pulls a black t-shirt on over his head. “He sounded like he didn’t want to be discovered talking to me, and he didn’t call from his own phone.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’m fucking going to Japan and sorting this shit out, once and for all,” Gabe says irritably. “I didn’t lay all that groundwork with the Shimadas to let one of Sojiro’s own sons fuck it all up.”

“Are you going to take—”

“No, Jesse isn’t coming. He’s way too close to this to be rational. I’ll take some of my ops agents and Claudia. She’s already familiar with the Shimada situation and Hanzo and Genji know her.”

Jack grins. “And she’ll keep you in line.”

“She’ll keep me—” Gabe begins dubiously, then pauses. “Well, yeah. She will. She’s the best man I’ve got, besides Jesse. Don’t tell her that, though. There’ll be no living with her if she gets wise to how much I rely on her.”

“Just don’t get her killed, Gabe,” Jack says seriously. “Remember, she’s not enhanced like us, or genetically engineered like Jesse. If your TAAV gets shot down, she won’t escape with a few broken ribs and a severed limb.”

“I know, baby, and I’d love to keep her here under lock and key, but that wouldn’t be right. She’s a combat medic and she needs to be allowed to do her job. A ship in harbor is safe—”

“—but that’s not what ships were made for,” Jack says, finishing his sentence “You’re right. I shouldn’t expect you to treat her like a glass figurine. I just worry about these kids, you know? They’re so young and innocent and fragile compared to us.”

“Well, we’re a couple of old war machines,” Gabe says, leaning down to kiss Jack’s forehead. “Everyone is young and fragile and innocent compared to us. But we have to let them grow up sometime.”

He zips up his hoodie and goes for his boots, then comes back and sits on the edge of the bed to put them on.

“Sorry I have to dash off like this, baby,” he says. “I hate leaving you more every time I do it.”

“I don’t like it either, but it’s what we signed up for,” Jack says, stroking his back as he fastens his boots. “And I’ll be fine. I’ve got Ben and Zenyatta to take care of me.”

“I know you will. I’m glad Ben is working out so well, by the way. I hope you don’t miss him too much when Beckett comes back from OTC.”

“I might,” Jack laughs. “He’s been making himself pretty indispensable. I’ve never seen someone learn and adapt so quickly.”

“Well, it’s been a whole month, Jack.”

“It’s a whole lot of job, Gabe. He still fucks up sometimes, but it’s always something that’s new to him. Once he’s corrected, he never makes the same mistake again.”

“That’s good to hear. I hope his combat training goes that well.”

“I hope so, too,” Jack says, with a little sigh.

“What?”

“Oh, just…I hate to think of him _needing_ combat training. He’s another one of those fragile, innocent kids.”

“You can’t fight every war yourself, Jack. We’re going to have to let go and hand it all over to the kids, one day. The best thing we can do to protect them is prepare them.”

“I know that, but I also hate the idea that there will be wars for them to fight. The world has had more than enough.”

“Maybe there won’t be,” Gabe says. “I mean, that’s what we’re here for, right? To keep people from doing the stupid shit that starts wars.”

“People didn’t start the last one.”

“No, but we ended it.”

“Put it to sleep, maybe,” Jack says bitterly. “And if we’re not careful, we could wake it back up. The self-aware Omnics aren’t all in agreement with Master Mondatta’s philosophy. We’re getting more and more reports of individual Omnics and small groups of them aligning themselves with petty gangs and even large criminal interests.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Gabe says, kissing Jack’s forehead. “Most of those reports are coming from my people.”

“God damn it. Is anything my agents tell me not just something they found out from a Blackwatch report?”

“Maybe. Anything is possible.”

“Alright, you smug fuck, I’ve had enough of you,” Jack says, trying to shove Gabe off the bed. “Get out of my room.”

Gabe smiles down at him. “I love you, Jack.”

“I love you, too. Good luck. And don’t get yourself kidnapped this time, ok?”

“No promises,” Gabe grins. He kisses Jack once more, then hurries off to assemble his team for a short-notice mission to Japan.

 

 

Several hours later, Gabe, Claudia, Agent Vasquez, and Agent Silva are geared up and strapped into the TAAV, waiting for Captain Ekwensi to finish her pre-flight checks and whisk them away to Japan. After a few minutes, Gabe begins to tap his foot and glare at the back of her head. After a few more minutes, his patience is entirely depleted.

“What the fuck is taking so long, Ekwensi?” he says. “You forget how to drive this thing?”

“Uh, sir, we…” she says hesitantly, clearing her throat. “We’ve got one more coming.”

Gabe throws his hands up in disbelief. “Again? For the love of god, can I leave this base on one fucking mission without someone who is not assigned to said mission showing up and inserting themselves into it? Who is it this time?”

“Well sir, it’s—” Captain Ekwensi begins, but she is interrupted by the interloper in question, who has just come up the ramp and is stepping into the vehicle.

“It is me, Gabriel,” Angela says, raising an amused eyebrow. “And rest assured, I will be no easier to remove from the roster than our dear Dr. Oberkampf.”

Claudia and the other agents wisely stifle their mirth at Gabe’s flabbergasted expression. He blinks at Angela for a moment, then squeezes his eyes shut and massages his temples, as if he’s laboring under a sudden headache.

“Fine,” he says, with a resigned sigh. “Fine. Anyone who damn well pleases is now invited to accompany Blackwatch on top-secret ops. Send a memo to the staff. I’m done trying to run things around here.”

“Oh please, Gabriel,” Angela says tranquilly, as she straps in beside him. “You are always so dramatic. You will give yourself a stroke if you do not learn to calm down.”

“I’ll calm you down, you…Ekwensi! Are we leaving sometime this century, or what?”

“Yes, sir,” Captain Ekwensi calls out. “Transmitting takeoff request to the tower now, sir.”

Gabe falls back in his seat and crosses his arms, glowering darkly as they get clearance from the tower and the TAAV lifts off. Angela draws out a tablet and goes to work typing on it, as if it the most ordinary thing in the world that she should accompany them. Gabe glares at her until she looks at him questioningly.

“What are you doing, Angela,” he says, with palpable impatience.

She smiles sweetly. “I am catching up on some work.”

“I swear to god—”

“Gabriel, what did I just say about calming yourself? Part of my job is to review the performance of the medical staff once a year. Agent Oberkampf is working in a separate division, so I have not had an opportunity to observe her. Since she is a combat medic, there is no better occasion for observing her in action than on a mission.”

“Right,” Gabe says, eyeing her cagily. “You interrupted your busy schedule to come and write a performance review.”

“And perhaps I have some…scientific curiosity,” she says, a little flush of rosy color rising in her ivory cheeks. “The Shimadas are reported to possess some extraordinary abilities.”

“Ah, I see,” Gabe nods. A sly smile plays at the corner of his lips beneath his dark moustache. “Scientific curiosity.”

“Yes.”

“About the Shimadas’ abilities.”

“Yes, Gabriel. Why are you looking at me that way?”

“No reason. I’m sure it has nothing to do with you wanting to get a look at the boy Jesse has been pining himself sick over for almost a year.”

“Oh, please, Gabriel, do not be a child,” she says, with a toss of her blonde curls. “My interest in the Shimadas is purely professional.”

“Well, you won’t be disappointed. Your grandson has pretty spectacular taste.”

“I am sure he cannot be that spectacular,” Angela mutters, returning her eyes to her tablet. “He was foolish enough to let Jesse go.”

Gabe chuckles and relaxes back into his seat. He pulls his knit cap down low over his brow, settling in to pretend to sleep and try to think as they make their journey through the sky toward the land of the rising sun.

They land the TAAV stealthed, and in the same disused nuclear power plant they’d used on their previous mission to Japan. Gabe isn’t sure what the situation at Shimada Castle is right now, and Claudia has had no luck getting a hold of Genji, so his plan is to wait until nightfall and con the area, then decide their next move. After some discussion between the Commander, Silva, and Vasquez, it is decided that Gabe should go alone, since he has some specific advantages over the rest of them as far as stealth and speed, and as Silva puts it, “is not nearly as allergic to bullets.” As he is strapping on his twin shotguns, Angela approaches him and asks him to step outside for a word.

“What you think the doc wants with the boss?” Silva says, including Vasquez and Claudia in the general question.

“I dunno,” Vasquez says. “What’s she even doing here, anyway? You buy all that about a performance review, Claws?”

“Hm? Oh. Well, she said that’s what she’s doing, so it must be,” Claudia says distractedly. “Plus the boss let her come, so…”

“He didn’t seem too happy about it,” Vasquez observes.

“I don’t think the boss tells her no very often, as big as he talks,” Silva says. “There’s a lot more history between those two than they let on. I’d almost think they were exes if he weren’t gay.”

Vasquez frowns. “Why’s that?”

“Well, like, they bicker and shit, but the way they do it, it’s like…a brother and sister. Not people who really hate each other, you know?”

“I think you’re right,” Claudia smiles. “I never thought of it that way, but they do seem kind of like a brother and sister. Or at least, really close friends.”

“Really close friends like you and Jesse?” Vasquez says, with a sly little smirk.

“What? What do you mean?” Claudia asks, genuinely perplexed.

“He means he thinks you and Jesse are into each other,” Silva says, in her usual no-nonsense manner. “I told him he’s a dumbass.”

Claudia blushes to the ears. “Me and…oh my god, you guys don’t really think that, do you? We’re just friends!”

“I know you are, honey,” Silva says sympathetically. “You’ll have to excuse my husband. Men just can’t grasp the idea that another man could be friends with an attractive woman without trying to bang her.”

“You know Juli and I were at Ben’s flat setting up a romantic dinner for the two of them, like, a week ago,” Claudia says to Vasquez. “Why would you think something is going on between us?”

“Hey, just because there’s nothing going on for you, doesn’t mean there isn’t for him,” Vasquez shrugs. “Plus, we all know Ben and Jesse aren’t exclusive like that.”

Silva clearly means to reply to this, but the door opens just then, and Dr. Ziegler steps in serenely, followed by Commander Reyes, who stalks over and eyes them suspiciously.

“Why do you three look like you’re up to something?” he asks.

Silva grins. “We’re spies, boss. We’re always up to something.”

“What’s going on, sir?” Claudia asks. “Is everything ok?”

“Everything is never ok, but nothing new has gone wrong,” he says grimly. “Dr. Ziegler will be accompanying me to recon the Castle.”

The three agents glance toward the front of the TAAV, where the doctor is changing her white uniform jacket for black body-armor, then back at their commander. Silva and Vasquez look dubious. Claudia does not. She has seen Dr. Ziegler in combat, and has no doubt she can take care of herself.

“Anything from Hanzo?” she asks.

Gabe shakes his head. “Nothing. You’re in charge till we get back, Claws. I’ll report in when I can, but we’ll be keeping comms as quiet as possible until we assess the situation more thoroughly. Shimada intel isn’t stupid, and they might pick up our signal interference if we transmit too often. Silva, grab Dr. Z an earpiece and get her kitted up. Vasquez, get down to the hold and get the bike ready. We’re leaving in twenty.”

Exactly twenty minutes later, just as the sun is diving below the western horizon, Commander Reyes and Dr. Ziegler mount the stealth bike, much like the one Jesse had used on his previous assignment, and depart toward Hanamura. Claudia is gripped by a cold, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach as she watches them speed off silently and vanish into the deepening shadows of early evening.

_Something is wrong here._

After an hour or so, Commander Reyes reports that they have reached the Castle and are about to breach the perimeter via the southern wall. The agents are to sit tight and keep an eye on Shimada communications while they await further instructions. Silva and Vasquez banter back and forth and chat pleasantly with Captain Ekwensi as they monitor their screens, which display all kinds of useful intel things that Claudia does not understand. They try to engage her in their talk, but she can’t manage much interest.

She is extremely anxious for the safety of both Shimada boys, Hanzo’s treatment of Jesse notwithstanding, and she can’t shake her earlier feeling of uneasy calm. There is some kind of tense thickness to air. Something stifling and heavy, as if a storm is gathering, despite the clear night sky and balmy ocean breeze.

When the storm bursts, it is nothing short of the worst she could have feared. She experiences this night more as a series of disjointed snapshots, than an actual chronology of events playing out in a logical order. Commander Reyes’ voice comes over the comms, gruffly informing them that there’s been a change of plans and that they should prepare the TAAV for a speedy evacuation. Dr. Ziegler’s voice pops in, telling her to put one of the seats in its emergency medical configuration and to have a bio field and fluid kit ready.

Some indeterminate length of time later, the door swings open and Dr. Ziegler appears, followed by Commander Reyes. He’s carrying something. Someone. A boy with black hair and a tattered red shirt. No. The shirt had been white. It is saturated to the fiber with blood. Vasquez jogs out to stow the bike as Commander Reyes lowers the horrifically mutilated body onto the emergency cot, where it lies still and unresponsive.

Claudia’s blood freezes. She stares dumbstruck into the lacerated face of her sweet, cheerful young friend. His black hair is matted in the crimson slick on his wax-white forehead and his glassy, dark-grey eyes stare sightlessly into nothing.

Dr. Ziegler draws the curtain, obscuring the nightmare image from Claudia’s view. She hears Captain Ekwensi call out the order to secure themselves for takeoff. She tries to take a step, but her limbs are leaden and she can’t make them respond. Silva catches her as she sways and staggers, and helps her into a seat. She’s vaguely aware that they are speaking to her, fastening her seat harness, asking her if she’s alright. She nods stupidly, unable respond otherwise.

Commander Reyes is seated across from her, with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. She gazes at him blankly, not really meaning to. He gives a start and sits up when the TAAV leaps into the air. As he leans back to fasten his harness, Claudia clearly sees the marks of tears on his stern, austere face. This brings her back to herself. She disengages her harness and steps quickly across the aisle, taking the seat beside him.

He glances at her as she straps in, but he doesn’t say anything. Claudia doesn’t speak either. She takes her commander’s big, calloused hand in both of hers and holds it tightly. He sits still and impassive for a long while, staring straight ahead. Then he draws his hand away and hooks his arm around her. She lets her head drop onto his shoulder as hot, stinging tears finally begin to well up in her eyes.

“It’s going to be ok, mija,” he says, pulling her close to press a kiss to the top of her head. “We’re going to save him. Angie is going to save him.”

 

 

 


	103. The Scion

 

 

Weeks have passed and Genji hasn’t spoken. Weeks, that is, since he should have been physically able to speak. Months have passed since Commander Reyes had returned with the destroyed body of Jesse’s friend and told him to prepare himself for the worst. Even thus warned, Jesse had not taken it well. When he saw what had been done to Genji, he’d had to be physically restrained and ultimately sedated. When he’d come sluggishly out of his drugged sleep, he had found himself in his own room, held securely in the fortress of his father’s invincible arms.

“You gotta save him, pa,” Jesse had sobbed, clinging to his father in his desperate, childlike grief. “You just gotta. Please, pa. Please don’t let my friend die like this.”

“If there was anything I could do, I would do it, mijo,” Commander Reyes had said. “Angie has performed miracles before. All we can do is let her try.”

He had held Jesse and wept with him. Not for Genji, but for his son. For his uncomprehending anguish and horror, and his heartbreaking compassion for his friend’s suffering. This loss would be another heavy blow to his young soul, from which his father was powerless to shield him. Then, beyond all hope, Angela had brought Genji back from death. Jesse hadn’t prayed since he was a child, and this was the closest he came as an adult. A hymn of wordless thanks to the god his mother had told him to never stop believing in, and a plea for mercy for his innocent friend, that he might be made whole again.

Her first miracle accomplished, Dr. Ziegler set to work answering this prayer. With Dr. Oberkampf’s help, she designed a cybernetic prosthesis on a scale never yet attempted. An entirely new body, to which his remaining organic tissue would be inextricably linked. The nerve-splicing process alone had taken breathless, exhausting weeks of delicate and meticulous labor. The cybernetic body operated perfectly, but the nerve connections were continually breaking down as the prostheses were rejected by the boy’s organic body.

All would have ended in failure and bitter disappointment, had Dr. Ziegler not done something utterly unprecedented, and called in outside assistance. At Dr. Oberkampf’s suggestion, they enlisted the aid of he world’s foremost expert on the regeneration of neuromuscular systems: Dr. Moira O’Deorain. Between them, the three physicians devoted all of their individual expertise to the joint effort.

The result was a scientific breakthrough worthy of a Nobel Prize, if not a medical ethics hearing regarding their bold contravention of international standards governing therapeutic cybernetics. A boy named Shimada Genji had died in an ancient castle in Japan, and had been reborn in a medical laboratory in Switzerland, the first human being sustained entirely by cybernetic means. But it is this very humanity that is still at question, and his physicians are unwilling to proclaim his treatment successful, as of yet.

His body is nothing short of a miracle of medical science, but he is vacant and automaton-like, as if his mind isn’t there. He responds to direct orders, but he does not speak, does not make eye contact, and gives neither negative nor positive nonverbal responses to questions. He only turns his eerie, red-black eyes in whatever direction he is pointed and does exactly as he has been told.

Over several weeks of testing, he is given a battery of increasingly complex tasks, all of which he performs consistently and without error. Dr. O’Deorain agrees that this is impressive, but insists that his true strength lies elsewhere. With the permission of the Blackwatch Commander, she and Dr. Ziegler undertake to test his combat capabilities. This proves to be such a success, that the Strike-Commander is called in on several occasions to observe his progress.

In the practice arenas, Genji is a flawless instrument of slaughter. Elegant, graceful, faster than sight. Armed only with a blade, he is capable of subduing many opponents with very little apparent difficulty, even those using live-fire weapons. But when the training bots have been reduced to sparking heaps on the floor, he simply stands idle until the next wave is released, or someone comes to lead him away.

This is almost always Jesse. He is by his friend’s side every moment of every day, from the time he goes to the med bay to fetch him in the morning, till the time he walks him back at night. Otherwise, Genji does nothing on his own. The other Blackwatch agents say that he isn’t in there anymore. That the doctors brought back a body with no soul and animated it like a wind-up doll. Jesse does not believe it. To him, his friend doesn’t seem like a mindless machine. He only seems hollow and bereft of will, as if he is bearing a burden too heavy to allow him to comprehend anything else. This is a feeling that Jesse knows all too well.

There have been moments, though, when hope has deserted him. Moments of horror at the thing his friend has been made into. But Angela and Claudia believe Genji is still in there, too. Their encouragement gives Jesse the strength to hold onto his faith that one day, Genji will wake from this stupor and come back to him.

 

 

 

Jesse hates his quarters at HQ, but he wants to be close in case Genji needs him, and Ben is away at his combat training anyway, so he has been living on base for the past month or so. He is lying on his too-small, too-hard bed, tossing and shifting restlessly. He can’t get comfortable no matter what he does. The covers make him too hot, so he kicks them off. Then he feels cold, so he pulls them back on, only to repeat the process. He is irritably kicking them off a third or fourth time, when there is a soft knock at his door.

Out of habit, he goes to the door and presses the plate manually, rather than calling for it to open. He stops short, thinking he must be seeing wrong. Waiting before his door is Genji, accompanied by two uniformed Overwatch security personnel, who are standing behind him looking perplexed. Jesse blinks in the bright light of the hallway, then steps back in surprise as Genji simply walks past him into the room without a word, or even a look of greeting.

He turns to glance at his friend, then back at the security men. “What’s up fellas? Why’d the doc send him over?”

“Uh, she didn’t, sir,” the man on the left says uneasily. “He came here on his own. We just followed him.”

“What d’you mean he come on his own?” Jesse asks, not quite understanding. “Wadn’t he locked up in the med bay?”

“His room isn’t kept locked, sir,” the man on the right explains. “Dr. Ziegler gave orders that if he attempted to leave the lab, we were to follow and observe him, but not to interfere unless it appeared that he might hurt himself or someone else, or to prevent him entering public-accessible areas.”

“That a fact,” Jesse says, rubbing his chin. He looks at Genji again, who is standing still with his back to them, about five paces into Jesse’s room. “Well, alright. Y’all better go report where he is and everything. I’ll take it from here.”

“Yes, sir,” the men say, then they depart briskly.

After the door slides shut, Jesse comes around to stand in front of Genji and lays a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, Genj,” he says gently, “Everything ok?”

Genji stares through him into the middle distance. This doesn’t faze Jesse at all anymore. This is how Genji is now. Silent and unresponsive. But his coming to Jesse’s room on his own is entirely new. Jesse’s insides twist with agonizing hope and fear. He hasn’t done anything independent since he regained consciousness and began his recovery. This is the first time he’s demonstrated that something is passing in his mind. That he is alive behind the eerie red glow in those dead, black eyes.

He smiles sympathetically as he studies his friend’s pale, scarred face. “I guess it gets kinda lonely over in the med bay, huh?”

Genji remains silent and unmoved.

“Yeah, I feel ya,” Jesse says, suppressing a yawn. “I can’t sleep neither. You wanna watch TV or somethin’?”

Genji turns his head slowly toward Jesse’s twin sofa, and then walks over and seats himself on it, facing the holovid screen. Jesse climbs over the back and sits cross-legged beside him. Then he changes his mind and goes to fetch a blanket from his bed. When he returns, his heart skips a beat. Genji has pulled his metal and polymer legs up into the same crossed position in which Jesse had just been sitting. Tears blur Jesse’s vision and an ache rises in his throat. He takes a deep breath to steady himself as he spreads the blanket over them both, then he commands the holovid to switch on.

He turns to Genji. “Martial arts or Western?”

Genji gazes blankly at the screen.

“Martial arts it is,” Jesse says.

The holovid displays an enormous list of film selections. Jesse chooses one at random, and the lights in the room automatically lower as the opening titles begin to flicker across the screen. The film is in Japanese, but he doesn’t change the language. Hearing his native tongue spoken might comfort Genji, and Jesse prefers to let the musclebound actors perform their dramatic displays of wire-assisted prowess without the extra bother of discernible dialogue.

He pretends to watch the film and keeps a close eye on his friend. If Genji displays any reaction or emotion whatsoever, he doesn’t want to miss it. Despite his vigilance, however, Jesse’s fatigue gradually overtakes him. He doesn’t realize he’s nodded off, till he wakes with a start, feeling something touch him. He looks down to see that Genji has leaned his heavy, black-crowned head on his shoulder.

His heart swells with anxious hope. He reaches out cautiously and wraps an arm around him. Genji gives a faint, almost inaudible sigh, and Jesse feels his rigid cybernetic limbs relax and slacken a little. If there could be any clearer indication that this is still Genji, he can’t imagine it. An automaton doesn’t wander away to a friend’s room at two in the morning, and it certainly doesn’t rest its head on his shoulder.

Jesse didn’t know if Genji actually slept anymore or not, but before the film has ended, it is clear that he has indeed fallen asleep. Jesse tucks the blanket more securely around his friend’s human shoulder, and manages to get himself situated comfortably enough without waking him. He’ll sleep here on the sofa with him. Poor Genji. He’s tired and he’s in pain, and he’s alone. This seems crueler, somehow, than letting him die.

A black bile of rage wells up in Jesse’s throat as he thinks of his beloved, who did this to his own brother. And yet, in spite of it all, he still loves him. Still knows without a doubt to whom his heart and soul belong. His entire being aches to hold that beautiful boy in his arms again. To taste his lips and feel his perfect body, moving against him like a serpent made of silk. Like the writhing, ethereal dragons that issue from his hand and lay waste to his enemies, even those among his closest kin.

The double-edged sword of Jesse’s anger cuts quickly inward. It is his own heart that has betrayed him to his doom. To love without hope. To walk alone forever, bound in the iron shackles that chain him to the cold and distant master of his soul, till the weight pulls him down into the dust at last, and the earth reclaims her own.

He sees suddenly, as if with the foresight of the damned, that his fate is a long way off. Death will elude him until he has paid the full forfeit of his love. This is the price demanded of those who have stolen a taste of the divine from the undying garden. He will live long, desperate and wayworn, cast out by his own and hunted like a wild dog. And he will baptize his sorrow in a river of blood before the end.

 

 

 

Far across the sea, on the eastern horizon off the island nation of Japan, the sun casts her first rays into a deep, blue sky. The ocean shimmers, the morning flowers bloom, and the birds sing out, joyfully proclaiming the dawn. High on a green hilltop, where there are cherry blossoms in the spring, the walls of an ancient castle blaze brilliant white in the early morning sun.

As the sun climbs higher, her light bursts merrily over the walls and floods into the courtyard, to warm and brighten everything she sees. The black-shingled roofs of the structures thwart her, but she cares nothing for such matters. The entire world is her temple and she is worshipped devoutly by every living thing that abides below. If humans want to hide from her in cold and darkened halls, so be it. They will come out to pay her proper homage some other time.

This morning, the cold and darkened halls are quiet and subdued. Some heaviness in the air seems to rob the very breath from the inhabitants, who go about their duties as quickly as possible, speaking only in hurried whispers. Within the great receiving room of the Seiden, the Master sits high on his chair of state. He wears a black, European-style suit, rather than his customary formal kimono. His long, glossy braid has been cut off, and his black hair is cropped short, in a modern style.

He gazes down from his seat on his twenty advisors. If they sought to manipulate the Master before, they cower in his presence now. Not all of them had truly believed in his power, but having seen it with their own eyes, they are justly afraid. He does not rise to address them, remaining seated instead, to demonstrate his displeasure.

“Seven of you who stand before me were found to have been instrumental in provoking the rebellion of the traitor, Shimada Genji,” he says. “Step forward and let me look upon your faces.”

Slowly, one by one, seven of the black-clad men step forward from the group, and stand with their heads bowed.

“You may yet preserve your honor, and ensure your families remain in the protection of the clan,” the Master says coldly. “You will go to your chambers and make what preparations are appropriate. Any man who attempts to leave the Castle will be executed, and his family held to be traitors and slayers of kin. Go from my sight. May your spirits find rest with those of your ancestors.”

The seven men bow low before the Master and tread quietly from the room. The guards close the heavy, gold-plated, dragon-carved doors behind them. The remaining advisors stand silent, awaiting the Master’s command.

“We have much to do, to repair the damage done by the traitor, and by my father’s foolish bargain with the American commander.” He rises and bows. “We will reconvene in one hour in the meeting chamber, where we may speak more comfortably.”

The men bow in return, remaining in that attitude as the Master departs through his private door, in the back of the great hall. He walks briskly down the narrow hallway, then up the staircase to the vast and lofty Master’s chamber, high in the tower of Shimada Castle. These rooms had belonged to his father, and his father before him, and so on into a history that reaches back many hundreds of years. They now belong to Hanzo, and they will belong to no other after him. No scion of the Shimada Clan will sit on the chair of state, nor rest his head in this room again. There will be none to do so.

His keen eyes had detected the secret machinations of his advisors, and seen their venom at work on his brother, but he had been powerless to hinder it. Genji would neither reveal his mind to him, nor heed his counsel. In his desperation, he had called out to the only man he has ever trusted and considered a friend. Gabriel Reyes had come straightaway, but it was too late, and there was nothing he could do.

Hanzo had not truly believed the dragons would harm Genji. He had clung foolishly to the words of his father, and believed that his brother was loyal. That he still bore some trace of love for him. His heart had shattered when the dragons turned upon Genji, deeming him to be a true enemy of their master, and torn his body apart before his eyes. Now he has no one. He is alone in his anguish and grief, and they weigh heavily upon his shoulders.

He had told the guards to let the American take the traitor’s body if he so wished, saying he did not care what became of the corpse of a wayward dog. In truth, he could not bear to see Genji burned and buried without ceremony in unhallowed ground. Gabriel Reyes and his friends would see to it that his brother was interred in some honorable place, even if it is somewhere far from his home. His spirit will have rest, at least. Hanzo will receive no such mercy, for there will be none to bury him.

Unbidden, the image of his estranged beloved rises in his mind’s eye. His honey-colored skin and his large, long-lashed, amber-brown eyes. His expressive mouth and broad smile. His rich, chestnut hair, always hanging in his face or otherwise in disarray. His sweet, sonorous voice wafting lazily over the notes plucked from his guitar. A stab of pain splits his chest as he thinks of that night, when Jesse smashed his guitar and left the boys’ hall, never to return.

He had received no word after he sent his guitar, painstakingly and lovingly reconstructed by the finest artisans in Japan, more beautiful than it had been before, with veins of gold crackling through its body like lighting. He had told himself he expected no response, but it had caused him deep sorrow, nonetheless. Until then, he had been holding on to hope that one day things would be different, and that he might find Jesse again and beg him for forgiveness, prove to him that his love had not been misplaced.

And now, he will never see that cherished face again. Jesse will never understand, never forgive him, never love him. He had sworn he would never love anyone else, but Hanzo does not place much stock in the oaths of Americans, who seem so changeable and careless in their loyalties. Hanzo is not so changeable. Jesse had been his only lover and his only beloved, and will remain so till the day he dies, though he will never know it.

He realizes that he has been weeping, and goes to his washroom to bathe his face before he is seen in such a state. He must appear infallible and devoid of emotion or hesitation, if his purpose is to be achieved. And his purpose will be achieved. He has sworn on his father’s sword and his mother’s bow, and nothing will move him from it. He will rout and destroy this nest of vipers and scatter the ashes to the four winds. He will not rest until the Shimada empire lies in ruins at his feet. When he dies, his houseless spirit will wander desolate and dispossessed, left alone to muse upon his sorrows forever.

 

 


	104. Carpe Diem

Detroit was a mass grave. Cleveland had been hit hard. Pittsburgh would be next, except they weren’t going to give the tin cans a chance to get out of Cleveland. Not being suited to aquatic environments, the bots coming out of Detroit had skirted lake Erie, annihilated Toledo, and swarmed into the Cleveland metro area from the west. The massive body of water had slowed their progress enough to give SEP Detachment Bravo time to move into Pittsburgh and establish a command center. The Army and Marines support units were still coming in, and depending on how long that took, they’d move out the day after tomorrow, or Sunday at the latest.

Cleveland would call them heroes. It would be true. They’d save whatever was left of the city. But only because it lay on a straight path between their forces and the Detroit Omnium. Saving Cleveland wouldn’t matter, if the bots kept spewing from their hellmouth in endless hordes to overwhelm them by sheer force of numbers, devouring everything in their path like metal locust. The Omnium was the only objective. But they’d have to push through Cleveland to take Detroit, and so Cleveland would be saved.

The aforementioned command center was set up in the Monaco Hotel, in the center of downtown Pittsburgh. SEP troops were barracked in the hotel, but the Marines and regular Army had to make do with rougher accommodations. This took the form of a virtual city of drab-green tents, surrounding the high-rise hotel like a bizarre, geometric garden. Far above the forest of tents, on the twentieth floor, SEP Lieutenant Soo-jung Park and her friend and teammate, Lt. Kimberly Jackson, were sitting on stools at a tall table in the hotel bar.

The hotel manager had generously invited the SEP unit to come and enjoy an open bar tonight. Major Morrison had approved, and so the hip, low-lit establishment was full of uniformed super-soldiers, enjoying drinks which, while they wouldn’t really get them drunk, made them feel like they were back home. It was a good feeling. In addition to the convivial mood produced by hanging out in a bar together, the world was celebrating SEP Detachment Alpha’s successful shutdown of its sixth Omnium, so there was something of a party atmosphere in the bar, with the comrades-at-arms laughing and chatting comfortably for the first time since they’d left Virginia.

“Well, look who’s here,” Lt. Jackson said, nodding toward the entrance. “I thought he’d be having dinner with the mayor and shit.”

“Yeah, the mayor, totally,” her friend said distractedly, staring at the tall, extremely physically-fit blonde man as he approached the bar. “You want another drink? I’m ready for another drink.”

“I bet you are, you thirsty bitch,” Lt. Jackson clucked. “Yeah, get me another G and T would you?”

“G and T, got it,” Lt. Park said, sliding off her stool. “Be right back.”

Lt. Jackson shook her head and chuckled to herself as she watched her petite, dark-haired friend trot over and take a position at the bar beside the major, then do her best, wide-eyed ‘oh, I didn’t see you!’ smile as he greeted her.

“Evening lieutenant,” Major Morrison said, in the brisk, affable way he had of addressing subordinates. “Are you enjoying your night off?”

“Yes, sir,” Lt. Park replied, with a bright smile. “None of us have been out for a drink with friends like this in a long time. It’s nice to just do something normal, you know?”

“It is,” Major Morrison nodded. “What are you drinking?”

“Oh, uh, old fashioned. And a gin and tonic for Kim.”

Major Morrison smiled. “Old fashioned, huh? I haven’t had one of those in a while. That sounds good.”

He waved the bartender over and ordered an old fashioned for Lt. Park and himself, and Lt. Jackson’s gin and tonic. Lt. Park did her level-best not to stare at his golden-tanned biceps in the short sleeves of his tight, black shirt.

“So,” she said, as he turned back to her. “That’s six Omniums down for the Alphas. Looks like Colonel Reyes is going to win this war.”

She had been casting about for a topic and of course she had landed on the thing that literally everyone was already talking to death. She would have kicked herself, but for some reason, this seemed to set the major off like a firework. His handsome face illuminated in a genuine (and thoroughly devastating) smile, and his blue eyes sparkled to life.

“Yeah, he is,” he nearly beamed. “The strategy he came up with is just…ingenious.”

“You guys trained together right?” she said, pursuing the apparent source of his sudden change in manner. “You’re friends?”

“He’s my best friend,” the major said, smiling proudly. “One of the best men I’ve ever known. When this is all over, the world is going owe Colonel Reyes a huge debt of gratitude.”

The bartender delivered their drinks, and to Lt. Park’s surprise, Major Morrison picked up Lt. Jackson’s beverage, as well as his own. She stood blinking confusedly for a second.

“Lead the way,” he prompted, clearly intending to accompany her.

“Oh, right,” she said, with a nervous laugh. “We’re over there.”

The two picked their way through the crowded bar to the table where Lt. Jackson was waiting. Lt. Park slid onto her stool and tried to look casual, as if she buddied around with D-Bravo’s commanding officer (and one of the most famous men in the United States) every day. Kim kept her wits thoroughly about her and greeted the major with easy but appropriate friendliness, and thanked him for her drink.

“You don’t mind if I join you for a little while, do you lieutenants?” the major asked, looking as if he thought they actually might mind. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“Not at all, sir,” Lt. Jackson smiled. “Of course you’re welcome to join us. We were just talking about—”

“About how Colonel Reyes is a tactical genius,” Lt. Park interrupted. “Kim was just saying that he’s probably one if the greatest military strategists since Irwin Rommel.”

“Oh, yeah,” Lt. Jackson said, catching on instantly and taking her friend’s lead. “He’s really something. It’ll be great to see what our units can do once they’re merged. I think we’ll be pretty much unstoppable with the two of you in command together.”

“I hope so,” Major Morrison said gravely. “The war is far from over, but I do believe we’re seeing the turning of the tide.”

“I do, too,” Lt. Park nodded. “The Omnics don’t seem to have any strategy but to overwhelm us by attrition. If we can take away the numbers advantage, we’ve got them far outmatched.”

“Exactly,” the major said, looking extremely pleased with her assessment. “They’re not beating us because they’re better at warfare. They just have an inexhaustible and highly replaceable fighting force. Once it’s cut off, they’ll be crippled. It’ll just be cleanup after that.”

The ice thus broken, the three compatriots settled into a comfortable conversation, discussing battlefield management and different martial strategies, in all of which the major had energetic interest and seemingly inexhaustible knowledge. After about an hour, Kim excused herself, saying she needed to go to bed before she turned into a pumpkin. Lt. Park and Major Morrison remained, discussing the major battles in nearly every war in history, and dissecting each to examine where their commanders had succeeded or failed. Major Morrison was demonstrating Napoleon’s troop movements, using the salt and pepper shakers and sugar packets as visual aids, when the bartender announced last call. Lt. Park looked up to see that the bar was nearly empty, and she hadn’t even noticed.

“Wow, I haven’t closed down a bar since college,” she said. “I feel so young and irresponsible.”

“Yeah, we’re pretty wild,” Major Morrison laughed. “Talking about military history all night, like a couple of nerds.”

“Hey, I’m not ashamed of my nerdiness. Besides, I’ve really enjoyed talking to you like this.”

“So have I,” he said. He fixed her with those intense blue eyes for a long moment, in which she held her breath and counted her stomach doing seven discrete flips. “Lt. Park…I would like to continue this conversation. If you would like to continue it as well, that is.”

“I would like that very much, sir,” she said innocently. “But the bar is closing.”

“Yes,” he said, glancing around at the deserted tables. “That is a difficulty.”

“Well, I suppose we could talk somewhere else.” Her heart was pounding in her throat, but she screwed up her courage looked boldly into his eyes. “Like…your room.”

“Yes,” he said, a bit hoarsely. “I’m going to go now. If you’d like to meet me there, wait five minutes, then come up.”

Without another word, the incredibly gorgeous major stood up and strolled out of the bar. As she watched him go, Lt. Park had to shake herself, not quite believing this could be real. She was hot and everything, but he was so far out of her league. She had never expected anything at all to come of her little crush on Major Morrison, let alone what was very clearly an offer of sex. It was too good to be true. It was also highly against regulations.

She debated the issue internally as the longest five minutes of her life ticked by. They could both get into a world of trouble of anyone found out. He could be removed from command and she could be…punished somehow. SEP soldiers couldn’t exactly be discharged from service. She tapped her fingernails anxiously on the table. Yeah, it was such a bad idea. So much trouble. But…that forbidden element also made it incredibly sexy. And he was so fucking hot, good god. Literally every woman and so-inclined man on the planet would give their right arm to be in her position at this moment. Plus, this was war. They could all die at any moment, so fuck the stupid fraternization rules! Carpe diem! Yeah, she was definitely going up there. Her courage thus fortified, she swallowed the remainder of her drink and strode bravely out of the bar.

 

As the first grey light of dawn had just begun to creep up into the seemingly perpetual haze over Pittsburgh, promising another bleak, oppressive day of patrols, preparation, and tense anticipation, Lt. Park slipped down the hotel hallway, carrying her boots in her hand. She stopped before the door to her room and slid her keycard in the lock, wincing at the shrill beep, then entered as silently as possible, so as not to wake Lt. Jackson.

Junior officers were double-billeted in rooms containing two queen-sized beds, the obligatory holovid concealed in a wood cabinet, two large, uncomfortable easy chairs, and a baffling faux-antique writing desk. The dim, early-morning light filtering in through the heavy, houndstooth-patterned curtains was more than enough for Lt. Park’s enhanced vision, and so she was able to carefully pick her way around their various gear and weapons (and the absurd furniture), without tripping and betraying herself. These obstacles successfully navigated, she set her boots gently down and padded into the bathroom.

As she was hurriedly getting out of her uniform and into her pajamas, she bumped a water glass on the counter, which went tumbling off the edge. She caught the glass before it landed, then stood perfectly still, heart pounding in her throat. Lt. Jackson stirred in her sleep, but didn’t wake. Immensely relieved, Lt. Park carefully set the perfidious piece of glassware back on the counter, then crept to her own bed and slid under the covers.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” Lt. Jackson’s voice said from the other bed. “You have fun last night?”

“Shit. Sorry,” Lt. Park replied sheepishly. “I was trying not to wake you up.”

“You were trying to get away with your naughty deeds, is what,” Lt. Jackson said, sitting up and eyeing her friend cagily. “I heard you coming down the hall. You’re not as sneaky as you think, Soo.”

“My naughty—what? What are you even talking about?” Lt. Park said, protesting a bit too much. “I was just trying not to wake you up, Kim, I swear.”

“Uh huh. Right. You sneaking around here like a ninja didn’t have anything to do with the fact that you were out fucking that sexy slice of white bread all night.”

Lt. Park blushed to the ears and attempted to look as clueless as possible. “White…bread?”

“Don’t you give me that ‘who me’ look, baby girl,” Lt. Jackson laughed. “It doesn’t take a super-soldier to smell sex all over you.”

“Ok, but Kim, you can’t tell anyone. I could get into serious trouble over this.”

“Oh no, could you?” Kim said, making an elaborate show of looking dismayed. “I had no idea you could get in trouble for fucking your commanding officer, Soo-jung. Do tell me more about UCMJ regulations regarding fraternization.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Soo-jung laughed, pitching a pillow at her friend’s head. “I know you know, but I had to say it. I don’t want to get him into trouble, either. He could be removed from command if anyone found out.”

“Who, Captain America?” Kim sniffed. “I doubt it. That man pretty much has the president wrapped around his little finger. I wouldn’t be surprised if they made him the next Chief of Staff of the Army.”

“Jesus, you really think so?”

“I’d bet on it. Maybe he’ll even run for office.”

“Well, I’d vote for him,” Soo-jung grinned.

“It was that good, huh?”

“Oh my god. You have…no idea.”

“I have no idea cause you haven’t told me yet. Come on. Spill. How was the world’s hottest white boy in bed?”

“Fucking…amazing,” Soo-jung sighed, flopping dramatically back into her pillows. “I’m ruined for other men.”

Kim arched an eyebrow. “Size of the equipment, or skill of the operator?”

“Both. I mean…his dick is objectively perfect. They should display it in the Guggenheim. And he fucks like a machine. I’m gonna be sore for a week.”

“A machine? I don’t know, that sounds more like scary than perfect.”

“No, no, I just meant his stamina and rhythm. Cause holy shit. It was the literal best sex I have ever had in my life.”

“So, I take it you, uh…arrived?”

“Three goddamned times.”

Kim fanned herself theatrically. “Three times? Sweet Jesus!”

“Yeah. Him too. Three in a row, without stopping. He didn’t even lose his hard-on after he came. But he was so sweet and polite and he kept making sure I was ok. And he brought me a towel and a glass of water after and sat there and rubbed my back. ”

“Well, thank the good lord for your super-soldier ya-ya, or you’d have needed a wheelchair more than a backrub.”

“Seriously,” Soo-jung laughed. “I have never been prouder of my decision to serve my country in the SEP.”

“You’re a true patriot, Soo,” Kim said, pretending to wipe away a tear. “God bless America. Now hurry up and take your ass to that shower. You’ve gotta get that man stink off you before the whole unit knows your business.”

 

Two days later, SEP Detachment Bravo, under the command of Major Jack Morrison, stormed into Cleveland like a whirlwind from hell, and laid waste to the Omnic pestilence that had been tearing the city to pieces. In the aftermath, thousands of men, women, and children lay dead at the hands of the mindless metal scourge. But due to the valor, heroism, and selfless sacrifice of the SEP detachment, aided by their cohort of regular-military soldiers, hundreds of thousands were saved.

After the lengthy and tedious process of accepting the thanks of public officials and speaking to reporters, Major Morrison sat in his newly established command center at the Cleveland Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, on the shore of Lake Erie. The latest casualty counts had just arrived, and he was scanning through them before he called in to CENTCOM to deliver his report.

  

**Civilian Casualties**

Cleveland Metro Area

Deaths: Unknown. Current estimate 12,000 (prior-to and post military intervention included)

Injuries: Unknown.

 

**Military Casualties**

US Joint Command

Deaths: 157

Injuries: 306 wounded, minor injuries not counted.

US SEP D-Bravo

Deaths: 23

Injuries: 51 wounded, minor injuries not counted.

  

**SEP Deaths by rank and name:**

Lt. Sadie Blake

SSgt. Patrick Bogdanović

SSgt. Cedric Castiglione

TSgt. Eden Doyle

SSgt. Ryan Duncan

TSgt. Ladawn Duryea

SSgt. Clarissa Frey

Cpt. Anuj Gadhavi

Lt. Yeong Gim

SSgt. Ruben Goodman

TSgt. Kenta Ito

Lt. Kimberly Jackson

SSgt. Monica Klein

TSgt. Hector Luna

Cpt. Samuel McKellar

SSgt. Cam Nguyen

Lt. Soo-jung Park

SSgt. Neveah Peabody

SSgt. Carmelo Sosa

SSgt. Anabella Torres

SSgt. Morgan Trowell

TSgt. Dion Vandever

Lt. Donnell Watkins

 

Major Morrison read through the list of names, then asked his secretary to place the call to CENTCOM. His secretary spoke with someone on the other line for a moment, then informed the major that the Joint Chiefs were on, and that he was about to be connected. The video clicked in, and he addressed the men in the White House briefing room with his usual professional and engaging manner. Respectful, but not obsequious. Determined, but not foolhardy. Hopeful, but appropriately subdued.

He explained that the unusually high number of casualties within the SEP was due to a new weapon the Omnics had unleashed. A highly mobile recon-tank with a belt-fed heavy machine gun capable of delivering eighteen-hundred rounds of fire per minute. These Bastion units had proved to be a difficult, but not insurmountable challenge. The Joint Chiefs regretted the casualties and expressed satisfaction that the death toll had not been greater.

The fallen would be remembered at a memorial service in the city tomorrow. They would wait three days for Lt. Colonel Reyes to arrive with SEP Detachment Alpha, and then move on the Detroit Omnium. The last time Major Morrison had been in Detroit, it had been a sweep and clear of isolated Omnic terror squads. The Omnium hadn’t yet activated, and it had been believed then that it never would. This time would be a scorched-earth assault on the hive itself. He is confident regarding their ability to retake the city. Colonel Reyes has succeeded each time he has attempted an Omnium, and six have fallen to his ingenious strategy already.

The Joint Chiefs congratulated Major Morrison again on his victory in Cleveland. They expressed high opinions of the abilities of himself and Colonel Reyes, and of their prospects of victory in Detroit, and bid him Godspeed. When the call disconnected, he thanked his secretary and informed him that he planned to catch a few hours of sleep while he could get them, then departed to his temporary quarters.

It occurred to him, as he lay in his cot, that Soo-jung Park, the young woman with whom he’d had a pleasant conversation and sexual intercourse a few days ago, had been one of the names on the list of casualties. She was among those killed in the assault on Cleveland. The Bastion units had set up an ambush just southeast of downtown in the Flats, and her platoon must have been one of those caught in it.

Unfortunate, he thought, as he drifted off to sleep. Lt. Park had been an excellent soldier.

 

 

 

 

“Major Beckett,” Athena’s voice chimes smoothly. “The Strike-Commander’s transport has arrived at Helipad Delta.”

“Thank you, Athena,” Major Beckett says. “Is he coming right to the office?”

“The Strike-Commander’s schedule states that he is to return to his office, where he will remain for two hours, then depart for his debriefing with the senior staff.”

“Great, thank you Athena.”

“My pleasure, Major Beckett.”

Beckett, of course, had been fully aware that the Commander was due to return around this time today. She knows from long experience, however, that he prefers not to be met by an entourage when he returns to HQ, so she had remained working at her desk, knowing that he’d arrive in exactly seven minutes. He’d want his messages and certainly have some silly souvenir for her, which she adores and make her laugh every time (the bookshelf in her quarters is absolutely full of snow-globes with famous landmarks in them, brightly-colored bobble-heads, and other such tacky gift-shop arcana). Then he’d go into his office, sit at his computer for a while, look surprised when she brought him the mug of coffee she always brought him, and flash her one of those absurdly endearing boyscout smiles.

Major Beckett loves her job and she loves her boss. Not in a romantic way (she is not romantically inclined toward the male portion of the species), but as one loves a respected colleague and friend of many years. Thus, she always looks forward to his arrival after he’s been away, and to the sense of calm and stability he brings with him. Commander Morrison runs like clockwork, and Beckett loves that, too. It makes her job much more predictable, but not in a dull, tedious way. More like the way experienced dance partners develop a sense of one another’s rhythm and gait, and thus don’t suddenly make an irregular step and go stumbling over each other.

He had stumbled, once. It had been the most terrifying experience of her life. It was after his press conference regarding the attack on the Paris Bureau. She’d gone in to bring him his coffee and found him lying on the floor, staring blankly at the ceiling, pale and still. The earth had tilted on its axis as she rushed for him and shouted to Athena to summon emergency medical assistance. She had shaken him and spoken to him, and wept to find him cold and clammy and unresponsive. But he was breathing, thank god, he was breathing.

The EMTs had arrived within what seemed like seconds and carried him to the med bay on a stretcher, followed closely by his ever-loyal and attentive assistant. They wouldn’t let her see him, but she had waited in the hall until Dr. Ziegler assured her that he would be alright, and ordered her to go and get something to eat and try to rest.

His episode, or whatever it had been, had been described to her as being caused by exhaustion. She did not believe this for a second, but he seemed to wish people to believe it, so she refrained from pressing him on it. He’d gone on partial recuperative leave for a month or so, and when he came back to full-time, he had seemed quite a bit better. She has been conspiring with Master Zenyatta to keep a more vigilant eye on his rest and eating habits since then, however. It’s better safe than sorry.

Six minutes and fifty-seven seconds later, the main office door slides open and she hops up to greet her handsome, punctual commander.

“Morning, sir,” she says, smiling cheerfully. “How was São Paulo?”

“Morning, Beckett,” Jack grins. “São Paulo was lovely, the G20 was a slog, and my Portuguese is terrible. The UN Business Center has its own hotel, though, so at least I didn’t ever have to leave and enjoy any of Brazil. Oh, speaking of which, I got you something.”

“Ooh, what is it? Let me guess. Um…a São Paulo snow globe?”

“Even better,” Jack says, his blue eyes twinkling with merriment.

He reaches into his bag and produces an oblong box containing her gift, which she accepts and opens eagerly. Inside is an eight-inch tall replica of the iconic Christ the Redeemer statue. It is made of some kind of rigid plastic, but inexplicably coated in a velvety, neon-green flocking, so it is fuzzy to the touch, and the Son of God appears to have put on a few pounds.

“Oh my god, it’s hideous! I love it!” Beckett laughs delightedly. “Thanks, Commander. You always know just what to get me.”

“Well, I saw it in the souvenir shop in the hotel lobby and it just screamed ‘Beckett.’ I couldn’t resist,” Jack laughs. “Any messages?”

“Only twelve-hundred or so.”

“Any important messages?”

“Yeah, here you go,” she says, handing him the stack of handwritten message slips (which he still insists upon using). “And you’ve got a debriefing with the senior staff in two hours.”

“Thanks, Beckett. And I expect to see that statue in a place of honor next time I’m at your quarters.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m keeping it here on my desk so I can bask in its majesty all day!”

“I bet the Iranian Ambassador will love that,” Jack grins, as he heads into his office.

He has got himself settled at his desk and is eyeing the daunting contents of his email inbox, when Beckett’s voice comes in over the intercom.

“Hey, Commander,” she says. “Commander Reyes is on the line for you.”

“What?” Jack frowns. “Why the fuck didn’t he just call my cell phone?”

“I have no idea, sir. I never know why Commander Reyes does anything, to be honest. Should I put him through?”

“I should say no, just to teach him a lesson for being weird. But yeah, you may as well. Maybe he lost his phone or something.”

“Yes, sir,” Beckett says.

The intercom clicks off, and the phone on Jack’s desk rings. He lets it ring a few times to annoy Gabe, then picks up.

“Commander Morrison,” he says, as if he has no idea who is calling.

“Hey Jack,” Gabe says. “I know you just got in, but do you have a few minutes?”

“I’ve got two hours till the senior staff debriefing. Which, by the way, you’d better be at. Why the fuck are you calling my office?”

“Life was getting dull and I felt like shaking things up,” Gabe says sardonically. “I need you to come down to the Blackwatch Sector.”

“You know I have other shit to do than hang around and watch your cyborg-ninja destroy Overwatch property right?”

“Yeah, but it’s not about Genji. Come on, just come down here. Then we can go up to the meeting together, and you can make sure I’ll be there.”

“Ugh, fine. But this better be important.”

“Thanks, Jack. See you in five.”

Jack hangs up the phone, locks his computer and goes back out to Beckett’s desk. “Hey, Gabe wants something and he won’t tell me what it is over the phone, so I’m going down to his office. I’ll either be back before the debriefing, or I’ll meet you there. If I’m not at the meeting, it’s because I’ve finally snapped and strangled Commander Reyes, and I’m disposing of his body.”

“Got it, sir,” Beckett laughs. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

Jack walks briskly to the elevator, presses the button for the sub-basement level, and takes the long ride down to Gabe’s lair in the belly of Overwatch Swiss HQ. He nods to the few Blackwatch agents he passes in the narrow hallway, then enters Gabe’s office and shuts the door behind him.

“Holy fucking shit,” Gabe says, shaking his head incredulously. “That was just…Christ. I’ve never seen anything like it. Jack? What do you think?”

“I can’t…I can’t believe it,” Jack says, staring wide-eyed from his seat on the arm of Gabe’s sofa. “Beckett never even blinked. She’s been my assistant for years and she didn’t question you for a second.”

“Thanks, commanders,” the Jack who has just entered says, with a bashful smile. “I did my best. I’m just glad all this work wasn’t for nothing, you know?”

“You’re being modest, but seriously. It’s fucking uncanny, Ben,” Jack says, getting up and stepping closer to inspect his double. “I mean, we still have to try you with a couple more of the senior command, but Beckett was the big-guns test and you passed with flying colors. No one knows me better than her, besides Gabe.”

“She might even know you better, since she spends ten hours a day with you,” Gabe says. “I only get you evenings and weekends.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Shut up and say something nice to your agent, Gabe. He just proved your whole security-double scheme works.”

“Good job, Ben,” Gabe says sincerely. “I really am impressed. I’d have known you weren’t Jack right away, but no one else has the advantages I have, so that doesn’t really matter. I’d call test one a success.”

“I don’t actually have to go to the staff meeting as Jack, do I?” Ben asks. “I think I’ve got the cadence and manner down, but I’m still not comfortable doing Strike-Commander improv for an audience like that.”

“No, no,” Gabe assures him. “We wouldn’t throw you into the fire like that yet. You haven’t been prepared for the meeting, and you still need to get acclimated to your new body. I’m actually kind of surprised you didn’t break anything by accident. It took us a while to learn how to handle our augmented strength.”

“I was being extremely careful,” Ben laughs. “I was afraid I’d do that exact thing, so I was imagining everything around me was made of eggshells.”

“Hey, that bit on the phone, by the way,” Jack says. “That was great. Beckett would’ve thought Gabe and I were up to something if he called my office phone and I didn’t question it. Excellent thinking on your feet.”

“Thanks, Jack,” Ben says, now actually blushing a little. “I hoped I wasn’t overstepping, but I was supposed to be you, so I said what I thought you’d say.”

“It was almost perfect, but not quite,” Gabe says. “Jack would have cussed more and refused to come down here. But I told you to come when I called, so I’ll give you a pass.”

“Well, we’ve got some time till the staff meeting,” Jack says. “How about another test.”

“What are you thinking?” Gabe asks.

Jack flashes a mischievous grin. “Jesse is in the training arena right now. And I mean, if fucking with Jesse wasn’t going to be one of the benefits of this, I wouldn’t have agreed to it.”

“Jack,” Gabe says, putting his hands on his husband’s shoulders. “I have never loved you more than I do right now.”

“Uh, do you guys even think it’ll work on him?” Ben asks uneasily. “He knows both of us pretty well.”

“Yeah, I’ll say,” Gabe smirks. “He’ll certainly know the difference if you kiss him.”

“Gabe, for fuck’s sake…” Jack mutters.

“Oh, wait, is that not something you two talked about?” Gabe laughs incredulously. “Forget I mentioned it. Let’s go. Jack, you gonna watch on the cam or come with us?”

“I’ll come. I don’t trust you to pull the rip-cord if Ben gets in over his head.”

“Ok, but mask up. Can’t walk around here with two Strike-Commanders.”

Ben notices for the first time that Jack is wearing a Blackwatch hoodie, and black trousers and combat boots. Obviously. He can’t be seen in the iconic Strike-Commander blues while Ben is wearing them. Jack pinches a concealed button in the collar of his black shirt, and a holomask warps the air around his face, changing it into that of a nondescript man with brown eyes and dark hair who looks a little bit like Jack Morrison.

The three men pass down the hall to a wider corridor, where they turn right, go through a set of sliding doors, and enter the combat training center. There are three arenas. One for agent-agent sparring and the like, one with unarmed training bots for target shooting, and one with armed training bots, that is also capable of holo-simulations of different environments for training under visually limiting conditions.

Genji and Jesse are in the second arena. The windows are one-way, so that those in the arena can be observed, but can’t see out. Jesse is shooting at a row of moving training bots, and Genji is standing idle a few feet behind him, apparently watching. Gabe taps a button on a console on the wall, and the audio from the arena comes through.

“Ok, Strike-Commander, you’re on,” Jack says, giving his double a reassuring smile.

Ben nods and takes a deep breath, shaking himself into character, then follows Gabe into the arena, while Jack watches and listens from outside.

“Howdy, bosses,” Jesse calls out, as the door opens and the two commanders step in. “What’s up?”

“Hey Jesse,” Gabe says casually. “Jack wanted to see how Genji’s doing. You two up to no good?”

“All the time, jefe,” Jesse says, with a grin. “Hey, Jack. You have fun in São Paulo?”

“Yeah, the G20 was a nonstop party,” Ben says, with Jack’s identical voice and intonation. “You guys should have to go to these things with me at least once, just to see what I suffer through.”

 _Holy fuck, he’s good_ , Jack thinks, with an odd chill. He’s actually beginning to find it disquieting, to see himself so perfectly replicated.

Ben turns to Gabe as Gabe says something, but Jack doesn’t hear what it is. He’s dashing for the arena as fast as his enhanced muscles can carry him. As Ben had begun speaking, Genji’s head had snapped instantly toward the door. The boy had stared at Ben while he spoke, then within a split second’s time, several things had happened. The eerie red glow in the black irises intensified. Genji had coiled like a serpent and leapt off the floor, silent and faster than sight (except for Jack’s enhanced sight), and seized Jack’s double.

Jack bursts into the arena, just as the cybernetically-augmented boy is in the act of pressing a blade to Ben’s throat. Fortunately, Genji has nothing like Gabe’s strength or speed. Gabe already has firm hold of Genji’s wrists and is pulling him away, speaking soothingly to him in Japanese.

“Sorry, about that,” Jack says, laying his hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Ben replies, with Jack’s voice, but a little shakier. “I guess it didn’t work on, uh…Genji.”

He glances apprehensively at the red-eyed cyborg. He has heard all about Jesse’s friend, but this is the first time he has seen him, and the first thing he did was threaten his life with a sword. He understandably wary of him at the moment. 

“Excuse me! Sorry to interrupt, but what in sam-hell is goin’ on, here?” Jesse pipes up angrily. He points an accusing finger at Jack. “Who the fuck is this?”

Jack switches off the holomask and Jesse’s expression changes from irritable to thunderstruck. His eyes travel from the real Strike-Commander to the counterfeit.

“Oh, Jesus fuck,” he breathes. “Ben…is that you…?”

Ben reaches into his pocket and presses the control for the voice modulator.

“Hi, Jesse,” he says, with his own voice. “Sorry about the stupid prank. The bosses thought it would be funny.”

“It would have been funny if Raiden here hadn’t lost his shit,” Gabe grumbles, still holding onto Genji, though there is no need, since he has gone passive again. He lets him go and Genji remains exactly where he is, staring slackly at the wall. “If it fooled Jesse, even for a second, I’d say we can call it a success.”

“Well, it did,” Jesse says, still staring at Ben. “Holy shit, I can’t tell y’all apart standin’ next to each other. I mean, I’da seen through it eventually, but…goddamn.”

“Apparently Genji can,” Gabe says. “I wish he could talk. He could’ve warned us verbally, instead of just attacking the impostor.”

“Ain’t his fault. The two of y’all shoulda known better’n pullin’ a dumb stunt like that around a coupla human weapons. Sorry my dads is idiots, Ben.”

“Jesse, did you actually just refer to yourself as a human weapon?” Gabe says, bursting into laughter.

“I think he did,” Ben grins (with Jack’s face, which Jesse finds extremely unnerving). “Getting pretty cocky, huh?”

“Hey, you seen me shoot,” Jesse shrugs. “I reckon I’m pretty close to it.”

“Well, Genji actually is one,” Gabe says, still laughing. “Don’t appropriate his identity.”

“Yeah, sorry Genj,” Jesse says to Genji, who does not appear to be remotely aware of anything that is passing around him. “I won’t never call myself a cyborg-ninja, if that makes you feel better.”

“Wait a minute,” Jack says, with a slight tremor audible in his voice. “Jesse, did you say… _dads_?”

 

 


	105. Cowboy Movies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some lovely people have created a Discord server for fans of R76, fans of Boyscout, and people who just like to hang around with a bunch of other nerds. We'd love it if you'd join!
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> ________

Jesse is dog tired, sore all over, and extremely anxious to get home. His fatigue and soreness are the result of long hours waiting in concealed positions and creeping stealthily about the grounds of the Los Muertos gang’s primary base of operations, doing recon and planting daisies. His anxiety to get home is mostly due to his concern for Genji. His friend has not yet emerged from his silent, semi-responsive state, but he seems to rely heavily upon Jesse, and Jesse is loath to spend too much time away from him, if he can avoid it. Gabe has been assigning him as much work close to home as he can, but Jesse is his best field agent, and he has to go out on missions sometimes, whether Genji needs him or not.

He files his report during the flight back from Mexico, and when the TAAV touches down at Swiss HQ, he hops off and heads straight for the medbay. Despite the late hour, he finds Dr. Ziegler in the lab, just as he’d expected. She is sitting in front of a large, high-powered, dual-lensed microscope, peering into the lenses, making notes on a tablet, then peering into the lenses again. Genji is seated beside her in another chair. He is facing her, but he is staring vacantly into the middle distance, like an unsettlingly lifelike doll.

Jesse pauses just inside the open door, then approaches quietly, with a broadening smile. Angela’s back is to him, so she hasn’t noticed him yet, and he can hear her chatting blithely away to Genji as she works. Jesse has never seen the reserved, self-possessed doctor in such an unguarded moment. It touches his heart to see her so pleasant and at ease with her silent, red-eyed companion, and he finds it extremely endearing. He doesn’t want to interrupt, but Genji has apparently detected his presence. He cocks his head in Jesse’s direction without actually looking at him, and the doctor turns to follow his gaze.

“Good evening, Jesse,” she says cheerfully. “I am glad to see that you are home safe and sound. I trust your mission proceeded smoothly?”

“Howdy, ma’am,” Jesse says, with a tip of his black hat. “Smooth as silk, thank you. How’s your new lab assistant workin’ out?”

“Ah, Genji has been an excellent assistant,” she smiles. “He does not do much actual assisting, but he never interferes with any of my equipment and he is a very good listener.”

“Any, uh…any change?” Jesse asks, trying not to sound too eager.

“I am afraid not, my dear. But no change is preferable to change for the worse, so I suppose we must count our blessings.”

“I reckon so,” Jesse sighs. “But I can’t help hopin’ anyhow, y’know?”

“I understand, Jesse,” she says gently. “It is perfectly natural that you should be anxious to see your friend fully recovered. These things take time, though, and the best we can do is be patient and see that he is comfortable and well cared-for.”

She does not say what they both know, which is that he may very well never recover full consciousness. It is a painful fact and it does not bear repeating at this moment.

“Well, thanks for lettin’ him hang around while I been gone,” Jesse says. “I can take him off your hands now, if you like.”

“Whatever you prefer,” Angela says. “He is no trouble to me, but I imagine you would like to spend time with him since you have been away.”

“What d’you say, Genj?” Jesse asks his red-eyed friend. “You comin’ with me?”

Genji turns his head back toward Angela’s microscope and remains seated.

Jesse repeats his offer, eliciting no further response, then he laughs. “I guess he’s stayin’ here with you, then. For a fella who don’t talk, he makes himself pretty fairly understood.”

“It appears so,” Angela says, with a little chuckle. “Well, if he wishes to sit with an old woman and hear her prattle on about the reproductive cycles of microorganisms, then I am happy to indulge him. You should go and get some rest, my dear. It is very late and you look a bit fatigued.”

“I’ll do that, ma’am,” Jesse says. “Thanks again. Goodnight, ma’am.”

“You are very welcome,” Angela says, with a sweet smile. “Goodnight, Jesse.”

Jesse casts another glance at his friend, then turns and departs the lab, feeling oddly abandoned. He can’t imagine why Genji would want to sit around listening to the doc talk about bacteria all night, but he’s never been a cyborg, so he guesses he doesn’t know what they might find interesting. Still, he’d been looking forward to having his friend around tonight. He hasn’t slept alone in his room for a long time, and he hates being in the place by himself. Even if he doesn’t talk, Genji’s presence is usually enough to keep the blackness at bay.

He sighs as he enters his small, solitary, rather cheerless living space. He can’t call Ben, either. Even if he’d be awake at this hour, which he wouldn’t, things are too strained between them to be anything but an added misery. Neither of them had been quite prepared for how much the change would affect them. Jesse hasn’t been able to be physically intimate with him since he returned with his new face, and Ben is taking it harder than he lets on. His response has been to quietly withdraw, as if he’s trying to make it easier for Jesse to let him go, and Jesse doesn’t know how to ask him to stay. Or if he even wants him to.

Claudia made him an excellent holomask that restores his face to its natural appearance, but his face isn’t the only thing that’s different. Everything physical about him has changed. His body is broad and muscular like Jack’s now, where it had been leaner and more graceful before the treatment. He’d been a little shorter than Jesse before, but he is Jack’s height now, which is an inch or so taller than him. There is nothing inherently unattractive about any of it, of course. Jesse’s unrequited feelings for Jack had been the reason he’d sought Ben out in the first place. But knowing that without the mask, Ben is now identical to Jack is far too much for Jesse to handle emotionally.

The worst part is that Jesse knows he is partially to blame for this. He had sensed that Ben was wavering in his resolve to undergo the transformation, but he hadn’t said a word to stop him. If he had, Ben might still be Ben, and not this bizarre avatar of the first man Jesse had ever loved. He had never told Ben what a fraught issue the Strike-Commander is for him, being the first idol of his ardent, youthful heart, as well as his father’s husband, and now it's too late. 

This puts him immediately in mind of the blinding sun that had successfully eclipsed Jack Morrison’s star in his sky. Hanzo. He loves him, despite everything. Loves him with every fiber of his being. He will love him forever. Maybe he’ll run away and find him one day, even if all he’ll get for his effort is an arrow in the chest. Just one more glimpse of that beautiful face would be worth dying for.

He showers and brushes his teeth, then lies down on the couch to watch High Plains Drifter till he falls asleep. He wakes in the dark, the film having ended some indeterminate length of time before, to a sudden, disorienting sensation of weightlessness. It takes his sleep-hazed mind a moment to comprehend that he is being carried in strong arms. He blinks groggily about as he is lowered gently into his bed, then he smiles. To anyone else, a pair of red eyes glowing in the pitch-blackness of one’s bedroom would not be a comforting sight. Jesse simply mumbles out a drowsy, “Thanks, Genj,” and drifts easily back to sleep.

Over the next couple of weeks, Genji begins to spend time in the lab with Dr. Ziegler more often, sitting or standing passively near her as she works into the small hours of the night. Jesse doesn’t know what time he returns from these sessions, but he always finds him asleep on the sofa in the morning, so he’s not especially concerned about it. He takes this new behavior as a rather good sign, in fact.

Angela and Claudia agree, particularly since it demonstrates that Genji is at least capable of some level of decision making, and suggests that he is growing accustomed to his new environment. After some discussion with Jack and Gabe, his security detail is removed and he is allowed to travel between the med bay and Jesse’s room on his own. He will be given more freedom as he continues to improve. In the mean time, they are all to treat him as normally as possible and observe him for any indication of change.

 

 

 

 

“Disneyland?” Angela says, arching a blonde eyebrow.

“I told him he could pick anything,” Gabe says. “That’s what he says he wants to do.”

“I see.” She smiles affectionately at Jesse, who is sitting beside Gabe. “It is lovely that you two are making time to do these things together, but you hardly need my approval to take a vacation. Why did you want to meet with me?”

“There’s something else we wanted to talk to you about.”

Angela looks back and forth between them. “What is it?”

“Well, ma’am,” Jesse says, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “I wanted to ask you…if, uh…I want to bring Genji with us.”

“You want to bring Genji with you,” Angela repeats slowly. She pauses and steeples her fingers. “Jesse, my dear, I understand that he is your friend, but Genji is also a highly advanced weapon. I cannot allow him to leave headquarters and fly overseas to a populous area where he may very well present a danger to civilians.”

“Genji ain’t dangerous,” Jesse says staunchly. “I mean, he is, but he wouldn’t hurt nobody who ain’t earned it. And he don’t like bein’ away from me. I can’t leave him for a whole two weeks. What if he don’t understand where I gone?”

“I am aware that Genji appears to be quite attached to you, Jesse,” Angela says, with a patient smile. “But he has experienced a life-altering trauma, and we do not yet know how cognizant he is. He seems to be improving, but his recovery is far from complete.”

“But he been shut up in here for months,” Jesse says. “I’m grateful to y’all for savin’ his life, but what good is it if he ain’t ever allowed to live some of it?”

Angela looks at Gabe, who is typing on his phone. “Gabriel, will you please help me? You know that to do what Jesse is asking would be highly irresponsible.”

“I dunno,” Gabe shrugs, not looking up. “Kid seems ok to me.”

“Excellent. Thank you for your assistance, Gabriel,” Angela says drily. She turns to Jesse again. “I am sorry, Jesse. Until we are better able to assess his mental state, I cannot clear him for such an activity. But I promise you that I will take excellent care of him in your absence. It will be no different than if you had gone away for work.”

“Well, alright,” Jesse says, looking a bit downcast. “I understand. Thanks anyway, doc.”

The doctor bids them a cheery adieu, and smiles after them as they depart her office together.

“We knew it was a long-shot, mijo,” Gabe says, as he and Jesse walk down the broad, brightly-lit medbay corridor. “I’m sorry he can’t come with us.”

“I get why the doc wants to keep him here,” Jesse says. “But I can’t leave him alone for that long, no matter what she says. Now I gotta pick between my friend and our trip and I feel like a real asshole.”

“Well, how about this,” Gabe offers. “As your commander, I am officially postponing your scheduled leave until Genji is cleared for travel. So, it doesn’t really matter if you feel like an asshole, because I’m the boss and you can’t argue with me.”

Jesse smiles up at him as they step onto the elevator. “You’re a real hardass, jefe. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“No,” Gabe says, crossing his arms on his chest and looking as stern as possible. “Not if they know what’s good for them.”

Down in the Blackwatch sector, they find Claudia overseeing the setting up of her new medbay and looking after Genji. She is speaking with some uniformed Overwatch personnel, who appear to have managed to carry in an entire truckload of white packing crates, but not to have formed any concrete plan for what to do with the crates, now that they have got them inside. Genji is standing a pace or two behind Claudia, gazing off into the middle distance, perfectly oblivious to the curious glances of the visitors from Materiel Command.

“I know it’s marked medical supply, but this is research and testing equipment,” Claudia is saying. “These all go in Dr. O’Deorain’s lab. That’s back down the main hallway to the end, and through the double doors on the left. Oh, hey boss! Hi Jesse! How’d it go?”

“Nothin’ doin’,” Jesse says glumly. “Doc says he can’t come.”

“I’m sorry, Jesse. Are you going to go without him?”

“Absolutely not,” Gabe interjects. “I’ve postponed Agent McCree’s leave until Genji recuperates.”

“Aw, boss, that’s so sweet of you,” Claudia beams. “He was really worried about leaving him.”

“I am not sweet,” Gabe glowers, still trying to get some mileage out of his severe expression. “I’m a hardass. Tell her, Jesse.”

“Yeah, he’s a real prick, Claws,” Jesse drawls. “You don’t wanna mess with him.”

“See? I’m a real prick.”

“Yup,” Jesse continues. “Never know what the boss’ll do. You watch out, or he might make you go to Disneyland.”

“Hear that, Claws? Disneyland,” Gabe says grimly. “You better stay on your toes, or you’re next.”

“I tremble, boss,” Claudia laughs. “I do kind of wish I was going, though. I haven’t been since I was a kid. It was amazing. I met three of the princesses, and we got passes to skip to the front of the lines cause my cousin was in a wheelchair.”

“Which princesses?” Jesse asks, earning a smirk from Gabe.

“Cinderella, Moana, and Amina,” Claudia says. “I got to hug Moana. I was seven, so it was like, a big deal to meet ‘real life’ princesses.”

“Moana was not a princess,” Gabe says, earning a smirk back from Jesse.

“Um, excuse me, boss?” Claudia retorts, putting her hands on her hips. “Not a princess?”

“She wasn’t,” Gabe asserts. “She was a chieftain’s daughter.”

“She’s on the official list,” Claudia argues. “She’s in the Princess Parade and everything!”

“Well, she wasn’t back then,” Gabe returns. “I was around when Moana came out, young lady. I think I’d remember if she was a princess or not.”

“Yeah, jefe, but wadn’t you already a little old for kids’ movies when that one come out?” Jesse asks. “How do you know so much about it?”

“I didn’t—I mean…Jack wanted to see it,” Gabe says, a hint of color rising in his cheeks. “He made me go with him.”

“Sure he did, boss,” Claudia grins. “I totally believe you.”

“Goddamned kids with your sass,” Gabe grumbles. “I like the one who doesn’t talk. Genji, you’re my favorite now.”

Genji continues to stare off into space.

“Hey, no fair,” Jesse pouts. “Genji can’t be your favorite. I’m your son.”

“Genji’s my new son,” Gabe says. “That’ll teach you to call your father out about his age.”

“It wadn’t about your age, pa, it was about you watchin’ movies for little girls when you was a grown-ass man.”

“Hey, Moana was not for little girls!” Claudia says indignantly. “It had some really good…well ok, it was mostly for little girls. But it was awesome.”

Gabe tosses his head triumphantly. “See, Jesse? It was awesome.”

“Have you seen it?” Claudia asks.

“Hell no, I ain’t seen it,” Jesse scoffs. “I ain’t had time for that kids’ stuff.”

“Yeah, Jesse ain’t had time for that kids’ stuff, Claws,” Gabe affirms helpfully. “He only watches cowboy movies and gay porn.”

“Hahaha, gay porn!”

Gabe, Jesse, and Claudia freeze all at once, then turn slowly and stare open-mouthed at the (heretofore mute) red-eyed cyborg, from whom this interjection has emanated. He stands there smiling back at them, as if taking part in their daily conversation is nothing at all out of the ordinary.

“Genji, oh my god!” Claudia exclaims, instantly bursting into tears.

She lunges forward and attacks her friend with a ferocious hug. He catches her and holds her gingerly, as if she is extremely fragile and might shatter in his arms.

Jesse opens his mouth and shuts it, then throws his hands in the air in utter disbelief. “What the fuck, Genj!”

“Commander Reyes said that you only watch cowboy movies and gay porn,” Genji explains. “It is funny because you are a cowboy and you are attracted to men.”

“Don’t you give me that, you sneaky-ass ninja motherfucker,” Jesse says, pointing an accusing finger at him. “How the fuck long you been able to talk?”

Genji blinks his red eyes slowly, as if the question has confused him. “I do not know.”

“Let’s not worry about that now,” Gabe says, laying a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “We’re just glad to hear your voice again. We’ve all been pretty anxious about you.”

“Yeah, you—fucking asshole,” Claudia sniffles. “I’ve been worried sick for months.”

“I am sorry, Claws,” Genji says, looking down at her with genuine sadness in his red eyes. “I have been very tired. Speaking seemed to be…too great an effort.”

“So the first thing you thought it was worth sayin’ in all the time you been here is ‘ha ha ha gay porn’?” Jesse demands. “That was worth the effort?”

“It was a very good joke, Jesse,” Genji says gravely.

To Jesse’s further consternation, Gabe laughs out loud at this.

“Welcome back, son,” he says, giving Genji a hearty slap on the back. “It’s nice to have someone around who appreciates my sense of humor.”

“It wadn’t that good of a joke,” Jesse grouses. “I can’t believe you been awake in there and ain’t let on. I oughta whip your ass, you walkin’ paper shredder.”

Genji smiles slyly. “You are welcome to try it, cowboy. Perhaps you would like to lose another arm.”

Jesse blinks, then laughs, then immediately begins to tear up. “God damn it, outta the way, Claws. Let me hug my best friend.”

Despite his demand that she stand aside, he throws his arms around them both, trapping Claudia between himself and Genji in a crushing embrace. Then he looks at Gabe expectantly.

Gabe frowns. “What?”

“Come on, pa, bring it in. This is a team hug.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Gabe huffs. “Fine.”

He steps up and wraps his big arms around the group, making sure to look as annoyed about it as possible, until it becomes clear that Claudia is in danger of being actually suffocated.

“Ok, guys, ow! Let me go before you squish me,” she laughs, prying herself free. “Fuck, you’re all really strong.”

“I am very strong,” Genji says. He lifts his cybernetic hand and splays out the fingers, gazing curiously at them as they move. “I can feel that it is so, but I do not understand it.”

“Talking really wears you out, doesn’t it,” Gabe says, peering into the boy’s face.

Genji nods slowly. Claudia looks up at him and sees that his skin has grown pale and his eyelids have begun to perceptibly droop.

“Yeah, you need to rest,” she says, snapping back into physician mode. “Commander, if you could call Dr. Ziegler and ask her to come down, I’ll get Genji situated in one of the exam rooms.”

Gabe nods and pulls out his phone, as Jesse and Genji follow Claudia into exam room A, where she directs Genji to lie down on the hovering hospital bed. He gazes up at her with a sleepy smile on his scarred face, as she spreads a blanket over him and carefully tucks it in around his cybernetic limbs.

“Hey little bro,” she says, stroking his hair affectionately. “It’s been a while. I missed you.”

“I have missed you as well, Claws,” he says through a deep yawn. “But…I was here…sometimes.”

After a minute or two, Gabe steps in to let them know that Angela is on her way, and asks Claudia to speak with him outside. She ensures that the bed is reading Genji’s vitals, then goes to join Gabe in the hallway.

“What’s up, boss?” she asks, as she shuts the door softly behind her.

“I’m concerned about Genji’s explanation as to why he hadn’t spoken,” Gabe says quietly. “It doesn’t make sense. He hasn’t communicated nonverbally either, which he ostensibly could have, if what he said was true.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Claudia says. “Just now I told him I’d missed him and he said he was here _sometimes_. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s been intermittently conscious and he doesn’t really know why he couldn’t talk.”

“I don’t know that I find that less disturbing,” Gabe says. “The idea of his mind being trapped in his body without the ability to communicate.”

“I don’t like that idea either, but I don’t think that’s what was happening.” She bites her lip thoughtfully. “So, in order to make his new body act as much like an organic neuromuscular system as possible, the cybernetics are designed to respond to his autonomic nervous system, just like his human body did. It seems like it was functioning kind of…reflexively, without his conscious mind having much to do with it. But we won’t really know until he describes his experience to us.”

“Alright. Just make sure Angela doesn’t grill him too hard. I don’t want him to get overwhelmed now that he’s just coming back to us.”

Claudia smiles. “Boss, when was the last time you observed Dr. Z with a patient?”

“I don’t know, never? All I know is she’s pretty tough on me.”

Just then, the door to the exam room opens and Jesse pops his head out, looking distraught.

“Hey Claws, you better come in here,” he says. “Genji’s doin’ that thing again.”

“What do you mean?” Claudia asks, hurrying into the room.

“He quit talkin’ right in the middle of a sentence,” Jesse says. “I tried to snap him out of it, but he won’t react to nothin’ I say, just like before.”

Sure enough, the boy is lying just as Claudia left him, with his red eyes open and gazing listlessly at the ceiling. She glances at the monitors above the bed, then gets out her pen light and checks his pupils.

“Vitals stable, pupils responsive,” she says. “I don’t know why he went dormant again. I don’t know why he came out of it either, though, so that’s not surprising.”

“But he ain’t sleepin’,” Jesse says. “I seen him sleep. He does that like normal. Y’know…with his eyes closed.”

Claudia shakes her head. “That isn’t what I meant by dormant. I think this is more of a cognitive at-rest state. Kind of like deep meditation.”

“But he’s gonna come back, right?” Jesse asks, growing increasingly agitated. “He ain’t gonna be like this for months again, is he?”

“I’m not sure, Jesse,” Claudia says gently. “I hope not, but it’s extremely difficult to make that kind of prediction right now. The important thing is, now we know for certain that he's still in there and that his memory is at least partially intact. That’s a massive breakthrough.”

Angela arrives within a few minutes, and Gabe and Jesse hang back and stay quiet as Claudia describes the situation to her, including her own assessment of Genji’s condition. Angela listens while she looks Genji over and scans him with a little rectangular device.

“Genji, sit up please,” she says. Genji rises mechanically to a sitting position. “Good. Turn this way.”

Genji swings his metal and polymer legs off the side of the bed and sits perfectly still, gazing blankly past her. Angela taps the screen on her scanning device a few times and reads through whatever is displayed on the screen.

“I am inclined to agree with you, Dr. Oberkampf,” she says at last. “It appears that his semi-responsive state is due to his higher cognitive function being submerged, rather than inactive. In a normal human, this would present as unconsciousness, but the interface between his organic and cybernetic systems seems to have produced a very singular adaptation.”

“Is there anything we can do to help keep him lucid?” Claudia asks.

“At the moment, no, but I would like to have Master Zenyatta take a look at him. I think he may be able to offer some particular insight into Genji’s condition.”

Jesse looks doubtful. “You mean cause he’s a robot, too?”  

“No, my dear,” Angela says. “It is because he has handled a case like this before. I am going to take Genji back to the med bay now and speak with Master Zenyatta. Gabriel, I will call you the moment anything changes. Come along, Genji.”

Genji rises from the exam bed and stands idle as Angela stows the scanning device in her bag, then follows her away without a word or a glance to his friends. After they’ve gone, Jesse falls into a chair with an exasperated sigh.

Gabe nudges him with his elbow. “What are you huffing about, mijo?” 

“The doc really burns my ass sometimes,” Jesse says irritably. “Genji’s our friend. He just talked to us for the first time since he woke up, and she just swoops in and walks off with him like she owns him or somethin’.”

“Knowing Angela, she might,” Gabe says. “You know she’s the legal owner of my actual DNA? She fucking copyrighted me. She exercised her copyright, too.”

Jesse grins. “Well, if you ask me, the copy’s a big improvement on the original, so I ain’t complainin’.”

“Pendejo. Hey Claws, is Dr. O in the lab? I want to let her know what’s going on with Genji.”

“She should be,” Claudia says. “They’re bringing in all the large equipment today and I’m sure she’ll want to inspect everything and have it set up to her specifications.”

Jesse’s lip curls at the mention of the Irish doctor, his strong distaste for whom has not been mitigated by her assistance in Genji’s treatment.

“I don’t see why we gotta take her on, anyhow,” he grumbles. “Ain’t like we gonna need to rebuild a whole person every day.”

Gabe sighs. “Jesse, what is your problem with Dr. O’Deorain? She has never done anything but show up when we ask her to, behave herself professionally and courteously, and help save your best friend’s life.”

“I don’t like her, boss,” Jesse says firmly, as if this is a satisfactory explanation.

“But what is it that you don’t you like about her?” Claudia asks. “Is it that she’s kind of…odd looking?”

Jesse shakes his head. “Somethin’ about her gets my hackles all up, and it ain’t her lookin’ like a smug scarecrow, neither. She always seems like she knows some shit she ain’t tellin’ and she’s enjoyin’ watchin’ other people try to work it out.”

“You said something like that about Angela, too, though,” Gabe says. “When we were in Paris after the bureau was attacked. You said she seemed like she knew a lot more than she let on about a lot of things.”

“And what did we find out, jefe?” Jesse says, spreading his arms. “I wadn’t wrong. It’s almost scary how right I was.”

“Yeah, it’s chilling,” Gabe says sardonically. “Why are you wasting your powers of deduction here, when there are so many crimes going unsolved as we speak.”

Jesse crosses his arms and sits back sullenly. “I ain’t wastin’ my powers of deduction. I’m a fuckin’ spy, if you don’t recall.”

“I do recall,” Gabe says. “That reminds me, where are you on the Los Muertos case? Have you heard back from intel on your daisies?”

“Shit, I meant to tell you about that. There was an electrical storm or somethin’ knocked ‘em all out. They wadn’t pickin’ anything up but standard chatter ‘fore they went offline, though, so it’s likely we ain’t missed much.”

“Daisies?” Claudia asks, looking confused.

“Surveillance devices that tap wireless communications in a certain area,” Gabe explains. “They’re little metal stakes with a ring of short antennae on the top, like daisy petals. Hence the name.” He turns back to Jesse. “We’ll have to get out there and do some more recon before we have them replaced. I don’t think Castillo is renowned for its electrical storms, and if they were disabled intentionally, we’ll have to take another approach.”

“Got it,” Jesse nods.

“Good. I’m going to go chat with Dr. O about Genji. Claws, you keep Jesse out of trouble, ok?”

“Yes, sir,” Claudia says cheerfully. After Gabe departs, she turns to Jesse with a softer expression. “Hey. How are you doing?”

“I aint doin’ too hot, Claws,” Jesse says, pressing his palms to his eyes. “All kindsa things is always happenin’ and I just…I don’t know how much more I can take ‘fore I lose my mind and ride my chopper into Lake Geneva.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” She sits down in the chair beside his and lays a comforting hand on his back. “Why didn’t you tell me you were having such a hard time?”

“I dunno,” Jesse says. “I reckoned you had enough to deal with already. I didn’t want to add my dumb shit to the pile.”

“There is nothing more important to me than making sure you’re ok,” she says decisively. “You’ve been going through some seriously difficult things lately, and it’s perfectly normal to feel overwhelmed. But you have to talk to me. Especially if you’re to the point where you’re talking about driving your motorcycle into the lake.”

“I know that, Claws,” Jesse says, slumping in his chair. “But I’m supposed to be tougher than other people, like my pa. Nothin’ gets to him. So why can’t I do like he does and just let shit roll off me?”

“Jesse, I don’t think you understand the boss, if you think he isn’t affected by things. He’s just had a lot more practice dealing with difficult situations. He’s also a lot older and better at concealing his emotions.”

“Yeah, I’d say he’s pretty goddamn good at it,” Jesse replies bitterly.

“You guys seemed to be getting along so well lately. What’s going on?”

“We are gettin’ along, _now_. I guess…I guess I’m still mad at him for a buncha stuff.”

“Like what?”

Jesse sighs. “Mostly shit that ain’t his fault.”

“I see,” Claudia nods. “If it makes you feel any better, that’s normal. Pretty much everyone on the planet is mad at their dad for stuff that wasn’t his fault.”

“Are they? Well, that’s a relief,” Jesse says. “I reckon I don’t feel like such a asshole, then. And he has been tryin’ real hard to make shit right between us.”

“He has. He really loves you, Jesse. He might be bad at showing it, but I know he does. You just have to get through that hard shell, and then he’s all sweet, gooey center.”

“You makin’ him sound like a candy bar,” Jesse laughs. “You plannin’ on eatin’ my pa?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Claudia grins. “But I’m serious. The boss isn’t nearly as tough and mean as he likes people to think. He doesn’t really want to be left alone, but you have to keep at him. Eventually, he’ll let you in. I got him to sit down with me one night and basically tell me his whole life story.”

“Hoo boy, that’s somethin’,” Jesse says, regarding his friend with new admiration. “How the fuck you do that?”

“I just didn’t let him push me away. He needs to feel like you care enough to work through his defenses. But once you’re in, you’re all the way in. That’s why I get away with talking back to him so much.”

“That does sound right, now I think about it,” Jesse muses. “No one on the team seems like they’re actually scared of him, even though he can disappear and lift trucks with his bare hands and shit. They hop to when he calls, but they don’t piss theirselves when he growls and snarls or nothin’.”

“Exactly,” Claudia says. “I’m not saying he’s not scary. He is a very dangerous man. But he’d never hurt any of us, and everyone on the team knows it. We’re…well, we’re family.”

“Family,” Jesse repeats, rolling the word around in his mind. He smiles. “I reckon we are, ain’t we. Our little fucked up family of criminals and outlaws and Claws.”

“Wow, am I really the only member of Blackwatch without a rap sheet?” Claudia laughs. “I feel like I should knock over a bank or something, just so I fit in around here.”

“I was fixin’ to say Ben don’t have one, but he does. That fat dead fuck that beat him up had him arrested for assault.”

“Yeah, he told me,” Claudia says, her pretty features hardening. “I’m glad that piece of shit killed himself. Good fucking riddance.”

“Got hisself killed is more like,” Jesse sneers. “But I guess it don’t matter how he went.”

Claudia frowns. “What do you mean? He didn’t commit suicide?”

“Nope. He got shot in the head behind a bar in Geneva. The cleanup team threw down a suicide cover after they picked up his carcass.”

“How do you know this, Jesse?” Claudia says, going a little pale in the face. “Is there a case file?”

“Naw, there ain’t no case files for shit like that. I know cause I done it myself.”

“You…you shot him? You shot him and killed him?”

“Yup,” Jesse says. He notices her troubled expression and misinterprets it. “I’m sorry, Claws. I woulda told you, only you’re friends with Silva and I reckoned she’da mentioned it.”

“No, she didn’t. She never said anything to me about it. Jesus Christ, Jesse, how can you be so casual about this?”

“I don’t get you,” Jesse says, looking perplexed. “About which part?”

“The part where you shot and killed the man who beat Ben. That part.”

“He was a real bad man, Claws. He wadn’t doin’ no one no good by bein’ alive. They didn’t fake all that kiddie porn they found on his computer, neither. He was a sick piece of shit and he got justice.”

“Jesse, I am not concerned in the least about him. I’m glad he’s dead. I’m concerned about your emotional state. You killed a man. That has to have affected you psychologically, you know?”

“I killed lots of men,” Jesse says tranquilly. “I kill people for a living. We all do. One kiddie pervert who almost beat Ben to death ain’t much of a tick on the meter to me.”

“I…I know. It’s just startling to hear it out loud like that.”

“I’m real sorry I upset you, Claws. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you those kindsa things.”

“No, it’s alright,” Claudia says, relaxing somewhat. “It’s good for me to face the reality of what we actually do here sometimes. It’s easy for me to ignore it because I’m not the one who has to do it, but I shouldn’t. That’s not exactly healthy.”

“Well, we only kill bad guys, so don’t you get to worryin’ about it too much. Lotsa innocent people’s safe as wouldn’t be if we wadn’t takin’ out the wolves ‘fore they get into the fold.”

“You sound just like your dad,” Claudia says, laughing in spite of herself.

“I beg your pardon?” Jesse says, with mock indignation. “You take that back, missy. I don’t sound like a fuckin’ skateboarder commando.”

“Oh my god, that’s exactly what he sounds like! Holy shit, I have to tell him that one.”

“Wait, hang on,” Jesse laughs. “Don’t do nothin’ rash, now. The boss don’t gotta hear all the clever shit I say about him, or he might take a notion to send me on more jobs in Russia.”

“Ugh, fine, I won’t tell him. It’s much more valuable to me as blackmail material for next time I want something from you, anyway.”

“I respect that,” Jesse grins. “That’s what I’d do.”

“Hey, so…how are things going with Ben?”

“They ain’t,” Jesse says flatly. “We didn’t break up or nothin’, but we wadn’t ever like, official either. We just kinda driftin’ apart, I guess.”

She winces. “I thought that might be the case. He hasn’t said anything to me, but I haven’t seen you two together in a while. Are you ok?”

“I reckon I gotta be,” Jesse shrugs. “Ain’t no use tryina hang onto someone who don’t want to be hung onto.”

“Jesse, stop that!” Claudia says, with sudden energy. “You have to stop treating all the shitty things that happen to you like they don’t matter. You’re hurting and I can see it, and I know I can’t do anything to make it better, but it hurts me to see you just…swallow all this pain and try to act like you’re all fine and dandy, because you’re not. You’re only twenty-two, and you’ve already had a life that would fill a novel. Your mother died before you were out of primary school. You got conscripted out of a biker gang into a black-ops military unit by your long-lost father. Your first love broke your heart and then tried to kill your best friend, who is now a cyborg and doesn’t talk. Till today, I mean. Your boyfriend had his whole body altered to look exactly like your boss, and your dad is…Commander Reyes. You aren’t ok, Jesse, and that’s ok. It’s ok to be broken sometimes. But you have to acknowledge it and talk to someone about it. If you don’t get that stuff out, it’ll kill you. Trust me, I know.”

Jesse sits there blinking up at her for a long moment. A tear rolls down his face. Then another. Then she throws her arms around him and holds him while he weeps bitterly. After a little while, the sobs dwindle and he grows calmer, but his head remains resting on her shoulder. She sits stroking his shaggy mop of rich, dark-brown hair and wishing she could get hers so shiny and soft.

“Hey, Claws?” he sniffles.

“Yeah, honey?”

“You smell real nice.”

“Thanks, Jesse,” she laughs. “I don’t mean to brag, but I remembered to wear deodorant today. So yeah, I smell pretty good.”

“You smell like a whole field of honeysuckles all the time. Only you don’t make me sneeze and take on like I got tear-gassed.”

“Glad to hear it. I’d hate to think my smell is causing anaphylaxis.”

Jesse sits up to look at her. “Claws, would you want to, like…go somewhere with me sometime?”

“We go places all the time, you dork,” she says, entirely missing his meaning. “Of course I will. Where do you want to go?”

“You know how to dance?”

“God, no. I’m like, three different kinds of white.”

“Ain’t no reason you can’t learn. Come on, let me take you dancin’. It’ll be fun, I swear.”

“Yeah, fun for you to watch me make an ass of myself,” she says suspiciously. “But I guess I’ll go with you, if you really want to. When?”

“You busy tonight?”

She sighs resignedly. “No, I’m not busy tonight.”

“Perfect,” he grins. “I gotta go get on that Los Muertos business, but I’ll see you around 1900, ok?”

“Ok,” she smiles. “See you later, Jesse.”

He hops up from his seat and goes to the door. “Oh, and you gotta wear a dress. Bye!”

“Wait, I have to—Jesse!” she calls after him. “I don’t even own a dress!”

She steps out into the hallway, but Jesse has already made his precipitous retreat. She shakes her head, laughing to herself, then she digs out her phone and taps the screen.

“That fucking rascal,” she mutters, as she waits for the call to connect. “Hey, Juli, I have a favor to ask. Well, I know this is weird, but…do you happen to have a dress I could borrow?”

 

 

 


	106. Oni

 

 

“I look like a total idiot,” Claudia says.

“Pfft, you look amazing,” Agent Silva rejoins. “Sunny, get in here and tell Claws how hot she looks!”

Agent Vasquez pops his head in. He is chewing a mouthful of something, and is thus unable to verbalize his approval, so he gives a thumbs up, at which Silva rolls her eyes. Claudia stands there eyeing herself doubtfully in Silva’s full-length mirror. This scarlet silk, spaghetti-strapped, barely-more-than-a-slip number is not exactly what she’d had in mind when she’d asked to borrow a dress. In hindsight, she has observed enough of her friend’s style of clothing that she should have known what to expect, but she hadn’t thought about it. She does like the way the A-line skirt flares out when she moves her hips, though. And it’s not like she looks bad, or anything. She’s in excellent shape. But it is quite a leap out of her comfort zone.

“What’s the matter, honey?” Silva asks. “You don’t like it?”

“No, it’s great,” Claudia says. “It’s just…I’ve never worn a dress this short before.”

Silva raises her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. “Seriously? With a rockin’ little body like yours?”

“Yeah, seriously,” Claudia laughs.

“You should wear short skirts all the time!” Silva says enthusiastically. “You’re only in your twenties once, mija, so show off those legs while you got ‘em.”

“I don’t know about that,” Claudia says, blushing under the praise. “I don’t really have a lot of practice being a girl. I’m afraid I’ll look silly trying it now.”

“Well, you look fucking killer. Trust me, I wouldn’t let you walk out of here looking silly. But maybe the red is a little much for your maiden voyage into girliness. How about we try a black one instead?”

“That sounds awesome, thank you. You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all!” Silva says, as she steps into her closet. “I don’t have many girlfriends here. It’s fun having someone to dress up again. Let me see…oh! This one is perfect.”

She emerges bearing a dress similar to the one Claudia has got on, but black, and with a little more fullness to the skirt. She hangs up the red one as Claudia slips into it, then stands back to assess the result.

“Gorgeous,” she says, raising her hands exultantly. “I knew it. I’m a genius.”

“I really do like it,” Claudia says, with a nervous laugh. She takes another long look in the mirror, then nods. “Ok, this is the one. Now push me out the door before I start second-guessing and make myself crazy.”

“Deal,” Silva says. “You’re gonna be late if you don’t go get ready now, anyway. Have fun! And you better tell me all about it tomorrow!”

Claudia gathers her things and hurries off, with a hug and another thank you. Silva plops down on the sofa beside her husband, who is watching a show called Reality Bytes, which features three humans and three Omnics living in a studio-provided Manhattan apartment together and trying to get their proverbial “big break” as professional chefs.

“Wipe that grin off your face, Santiago,” she says, without taking her eyes off the holovid. “You don’t even know you’re right. Maybe it’s just a friends thing.”

“Sure, babe,” he chuckles, through a mouthful of popcorn. “That’s why you lent her your ‘fuck me’ dress.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, pendejo. And all my dresses are ‘fuck me’ dresses.”

“Damn right they are,” Vasquez agrees heartily.

“Anyway, I don’t think she even realizes this might be a date.” She sighs. “I hope Jesse doesn’t do something stupid.”

“Mi vida, he is twenty-two and a man. He will definitely do something stupid. But the doc has her head on straight. Don’t worry about her.”

“Maybe, but Jesse is a very big, sexy twenty-two. I wouldn’t be able to say no to a ride on that cowboy.”

“Hey, you better,” her husband replies, with feigned indignation. “You’re mine and I’m not sharing you.”

“Boo, you’re no fun, old man,” she laughs, snuggling into him to watch their show. “Damn it, I missed everything D-33 said to Jennifer. Holovid, back up thirty seconds and replay. He better be apologizing for wrecking the kitchen.”

 

Claudia steps off the elevator at 7:05. Despite Silva’s encouragement, she still feels a little silly in the short, strappy dress, and is glad that it’s cool enough weather for her long jacket. She doesn’t own any heels, and Silva’s shoes had been comically oversized for her, so she is wearing a pair of plain black flats (which she thinks will be more comfortable for dancing anyway). She glances around for Jesse, who had texted that he’d called the cab and was waiting in the lobby, but he is nowhere to be seen. She checks her phone again, and sits down on a cushioned bench to wait.

“Howdy, Claws,” Jesse’s voice says, from behind her.

She turns around with a start, and still has to look at him twice. Jesse, her shaggy-haired cowboy friend, seems to have undergone some kind of magical transformation. He is wearing a tailored crimson button-down shirt, left open at the collar, and perfectly fitted black slacks. His hair is stylishly unkempt, and he does have cowboy boots on, but they are black and look rather rakishly charming with his otherwise polished attire.

“Oh, Jesse!” she says, hopping up. “I didn’t recognize you without your hat. You look so handsome!”

“Hey, I’m supposed to tell you how pretty you look,” Jesse protests. “You stole my thunder.”

“Oops, sorry. Ok, how’s this?” She pushes her coat back to put her hands on her hips, striking a pose like a movie femme fatale. “Now, heap on the compliments. My soul is prepared.”

“Holy shit, Claws,” Jesse says, going a little red in the face. “You look—uh—hoo, boy. That dress is real…wow.”

She bats her eyelashes coquettishly. “What, this old thing? I only put it on when I don’t care how I look.”

“Alright, come on you little hellion,” Jesse laughs. “Cab’s waitin’.”

The cab drops them at a club in downtown Geneva called La Caveau. Jesse offers Claudia his arm as they walk in, and she takes it, though she feels a bit ridiculous doing so. They stop at the coat check in the entryway to drop off her jacket, then continue into the club.

“Uh, Jesse,” she says, looking around at the posh interior and well-dressed clientele. “This is a really nice place. But, I thought you meant dancing like…to electronic music. In a group. You know how to _dance_ dance?”

“Course I do,” Jesse says. “I asked you to go dancin’ with me, not shake around like a dumbass fish to some pre-recorded synth garbage. This is a Latin dance club. See the band?”

“I do, yeah,” she laughs nervously. “Jesse, I’ve never danced with a partner in my life. I don’t think I can do this.”

“You’ll be fine. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“Until I trip over my own feet and fall on my ass and embarrass both of us.”

“Aw, don’t say that,” Jesse grins. “I won’t be embarrassed at all.”

“Very funny, smartass. Let’s at least go to the bar first. I’m gonna need a drink or three.”

Jesse orders their drinks and they sit at a table in the bar area, watching a spectacularly beautiful woman in a red dress, who Claudia can only imagine is a professional dancer, perform a flamenco that actually brings tears to her eyes. The bar patrons burst into a rousing cheer as the dancer bows and blows kisses, then the floor opens for free-form partner dancing. Jesse rises and holds out his hand, and Claudia takes it and stands reluctantly.

“Wait, Jesse, wait,” she says, as he leads her toward the dance floor. “I don’t think I’m ready. Maybe one more drink.”

“Naw, come on,” Jesse says firmly. “This one’s just a bolero. Ain’t nothin’ to it. All you gotta do is follow my lead.”

She relents, and they find a place among the other couples as the band begins a new song. Jesse shows her the correct hand positions and counts the tempo for her as they begin. She finds that it’s a lot easier than she’d expected, since he knows what he is doing, and if she pays attention, she can just follow his steps. Before long, she gets used to the rhythm and relaxes, then she begins to actually have fun.

She looks up at Jesse and smiles. He smiles back down at her with his big, amber-brown eyes. And his hand is on her hip. And their bodies are very close together and holy shit he smells good. Her face feels suddenly hot and she looks away. Somehow, it has escaped her notice until this exact moment that her friend Jesse is a very tall, very handsome man.

She manages to get through the rest of the dance, but her stomach flutters every time she looks at him now, and when the song ends, she excuses herself to the restroom so she can breathe and think for a minute. She splashes some cool water on her face and then studies herself in the mirror.

“Ok, Claudia, get it together,” she says to her reflection. “This is your best friend. He’s only twenty-two and he’s your coworker and he’s had two boyfriends since you’ve known him and is maybe a little bit in love with his dad’s husband, and fucking him would be very, very wrong. So you’re gonna go out there, dance, have a good time, and pretend he’s not one of the hottest men you’ve ever seen and then avoid him and be awkward with him forever, oh god…” She groans and clutches her head.

“Just talk to him!” a female voice says from one of the stalls, in a velvety French accent.

Claudia gives a start and covers her mouth, dying with embarrassment. “Oh, sorry. I was just…giving myself a little pep talk.”

The toilet flushes and the speaker emerges from the stall. She is a tall, thin, beautiful young woman in a black dress, with her black hair tied up in a tight bun, like a ballerina.

“Do not be embarrassed,” she says, coming to the row of sinks to wash her hands. “You are distressed because you want to sleep with your friend, but you know that you should not, yes?”

“Uh…yeah,” Claudia says sheepishly, trying not to stare at her gigantic diamond ring as she dries her hands.

“If all of your mumblings are true, he sounds very confused. Perhaps if the two of you speak frankly of your mutual attraction, it will help you both to understand what you desire from each other.”

“Well, I mean, I don’t know if it’s mutual.”

“Pah!” the woman laughs, looking her up and down. “If he is alive, then it is mutual. I know that I am being very impolite, giving you unsolicited advice in the water closet, but I have made my share of mistakes. Do not keep drinking and dancing, or you will make such a mistake. Leave now, go somewhere quiet—somewhere that is not your bedroom—and talk honestly to him. It will make things better. You will see.”

“I…you’re right,” Claudia nods. “You’re right. Thank you, uh…?”

“Luisa,” the woman says, holding out her hand to shake Claudia’s. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Claudia. Pleased to meet you, too, Luisa. Oh, and sorry I was talking to myself like a crazy person. I didn’t know anyone was in here.”

“It is nothing, Claudia,” the woman smiles. “I understand. Now, shoo shoo. Go and talk to your friend.”

“I will,” Claudia says, as she hurries from the restroom. “Thank you so much, Luisa!”

She finds Jesse at their table, sipping his whiskey and watching the dancers, who are now engaged in a very lively mambo.

“Hey, it’s really hot in here and I’m not feeling great,” she says, carefully sidestepping the proverbial ‘we need to talk’ speech. “Can we go, like, take a walk? Maybe by the lake?”

“Sure thing, Claws,” Jesse says affably. “Let’s get outta here.”

They retrieve her coat and leave the bar on foot, walking in the direction of Lake Geneva, which is only a few blocks north of where they are.

“Sorry the dancin’ was a bust,” Jesse says, as they stroll along. “I really thought you’d like it. I didn’t mean to push you.”

“No, no, it was so much fun, Jesse,” Claudia insists. “I really enjoyed it. I just…I want to talk to you about something and it wasn’t the place for a conversation.”

“Oh. Well, shoot. I’m all ears.”

“Can we wait till we get to the lake? I want to sit down.”

“Uh oh,” Jesse laughs. “That can’t mean nothin’ good.”

“It’s nothing bad,” Claudia winces. “It’s just…complicated.”

“Alright, then,” Jesse says agreeably. “Lake it is.”

They walk along the lakefront till they reach a wrought-iron bench, where they sit gazing out at the tranquil waters of the huge lake, with the lights of the city reflected on its rippling surface.

“I don’t know how to approach this,” Claudia begins. “I’m really bad at this kind of thing. I mean, the last time I had anything like a relationship was before I graduated from med school.”

“Uh, relationship…?” Jesse asks.

“Yeah. No. I didn’t mean—shit, I already fucked up. Let me start over.” She takes a deep breath and looks him in the eye. “Jesse, I am…very attracted to you. Like, a lot.”

“Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“Yes. But I’m not sure if it’s even mutual, or how I feel about it or anything. I’m really confused right now.”

“Darlin’, I been tryina get up the guts to ask you out for months,” he says. “What d’you mean, you ain’t sure it’s mutual?”

“You—wait, you have?” she says incredulously.

“I can’t tell if you’re fuckin’ with me or what. We been together ‘most every day for more’n a year. You sayin’ you really couldn’t tell?”

“I had literally no idea. I mean…you were with Ben, and I didn’t—oh, god they were right.”

“Who was right?”

“Vasquez and Silva. They mentioned something to me a long time ago about thinking you and I were into each other. I said you had a boyfriend and they told me you and Ben weren’t exclusive like that.”

“We weren’t. Not even when things was good. That ain’t the way he’s wired.” Jesse sighs. “He never wanted just me.”

“Ok, this is what I’m talking about,” Claudia says. “You and Ben clearly have some serious unfinished business. You are not resolved there. So, what are we doing here together?”

“I thought we’d go dancin’ and then maybe I’d sweet-talk you outta that dress,” Jesse grins. “I ain’t really thought about it more’n that.”

“Christ, Jesse,” she laughs. “If you were any other man on earth, that shit would get you slapped.”

“I know that, Claws,” he says. “I get away with a whole grip of shit on account of I’m pretty and I got this way of talkin’ makes folks think I’m stupid. But I ain’t stupid. I pay attention. And I ain’t a creep. I’d never try anything I wadn’t a hundred percent sure was welcome. I like you and I respect you and I know you like me, too.”

“I do like you,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “But…did you just call yourself pretty?”

Jesse flashes a roguish grin. “Tell me I ain’t.”

“You…yes. You are very attractive, Jesse. Far too attractive for your own good, because no one ever says no to you, even when you need it.”

“I don’t reckon I _need_ it.”

“But you do!” she says earnestly. “Jesse, you’ve had two relationships since I’ve known you. One ended horribly, and you jumped right from that to the next, which hasn’t even really ended. You keep trying to ignore your pain and distract yourself with sex, and you can’t keep doing this. If you don’t face it, eventually it’ll catch up to you.”

“Fuck me,” he sighs, leaning back and letting his head drop onto the backrest of the bench. “Listen, I know you’re right. I do. But I ain’t ready to deal with all my shit head-on yet. It’s too much.”

“Then deal with one thing at a time,” she says, in a gentler tone. “Just try to actually deal with it, instead of burying it and distracting yourself.”

“I don’t even know where to start, Claws,” he says miserably. “I’m too fucked up to pick which thing I’m most fucked up about.”

“Start with Ben. You have to get resolution with him, or you won’t have the bandwidth to deal with anything else.”

“But it’s real hard,” he says, pouting up at her. “Do I gotta?”

“You definitely gotta,” she says firmly. “Once you have closure there, you’ll feel a lot better, I promise.”

“Ugh, fine. I’ll deal with my shit instead of lettin’ it slowly eat away all my insides. You happy?”

“Yes, thank you for asking,” she grins. “And I’m sorry you didn’t get to see me naked. I just don’t think it’d be good for either of us.”

“Ha…naked,” he says dreamily. Then he shakes himself and sits up. “Jesus, Claws, you can’t just say shit like that when you lookin' all…the way you look. You’re like to kill a fella that way.”

“Well, don’t die before you call us a cab,” she says, drawing her jacket closed against a sudden gust of wind. “It’s getting cold out here.”

“I’m on it,” he says. He takes out his phone and taps on the screen a few times. “On their way. Gonna be about ten minutes, though. Say, you know what’s a real good way to keep warm?”

“Don’t you dare,” she laughs. “I already told you it’s not a good idea.”

“Aw, come on, darlin’. One teeny tiny little kiss?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Well, it was worth a try,” he grins. “Snuggle up, though. It really is gettin’ cold.”

Jesse holds out his arm and Claudia rests her head on his chest, sincerely grateful for the warmth of his body, as he wraps his strong arms around her.

“Hey, Claws,” he says after a moment. “I’m real sorry if I made you feel weird, or like I was tryina use you or somethin’. I ain’t meant it to be like that. I thought maybe we could have some fun together, is all. But…besides Genji, you’re my best friend. I really do love you.”

“I know, Jesse,” Claudia says, nestling more securely into him. “I love you, too.”

 

 

 

 

No moon shines in the murky blackness of the sky over Hanamura. Roiling storm clouds blot the stars, and even the lanterns and streetlights appear dimmed, as if oppressed by some haze through which their light has no power to pierce. Leering tengu and black-clad oni wander the desolate streets. White and red kitsune dart to and fro between the buildings, and grey okami stalk silently through the deeper shadows.

Master Zenyatta glides serenely along, making his slow and steady way toward the massive white gates, which loom high above the tops of the buildings in the distance. Every time he begins to draw near, however, the streets seem to shift and change position. Several days have passed since he began his journey, and he has made no progress. Yet he persists, moving ever forward, undaunted by the apparent futility of the task.

He passes a darkened doorway, where crimson spiders the size of his head are weaving a web of black threads. The spiders retreat up the web and into the eaves of the building, startled by the golden light that radiates faintly from his body. As he rounds the corner, he has to move aside to avoid being trampled by a gigantic, fish-scaled, dragon-headed beast, with a mane like a lion, and the body and hooves of an ox.

He is watching the beast plod along in its course, when a pale glow, like moonlight, draws his attention upward. The source of the light is an enormous night-heron, covered in shining white feathers. It arcs gracefully through the inky sky, shedding a cascade of golden sparks as it passes over the town. He follows its trajectory with his gaze, and finds that it leads his eye to a red lantern, hung before an open door, from which voices and firelight emanate.

He crosses the empty street to the door. Inside, the place appears to be a lively tavern full of boisterous customers. Unlike an ordinary tavern, however, drinks are being served by animated sake bottles that giggle like young girls as they dispense their contents to the patrons, who are all black-clad, white-faced oni, with red horns and bulging red eyes. Several turn to look at the gleaming, silver-toned Omnic as he passes inside.

“What do you want?” one snarls.

“You are not welcome here!” another barks.

“I seek no welcome here,” Zenyatta replies tranquilly. “I seek only the path to the castle.”

“No path. There is no path to the castle,” several of them say at once.

“The castle is a tomb,” the first one growls. “It is no place for living men.”

“I am no living man,” the Omnic says, with a slight bow. “And I seek the path.”

As he raises his head, the firelight glints off the green gem in his five-pointed Buddhist crown, flashing in the eyes of the oni. Several of them cry out and reach for their weapons. The first one who had spoken brandishes his sword.

“There is no path!” he roars. “Depart this place or die!”

“No path! No path!” the others chant, beating their sword-hilts against their breastplates. “Depart or die!”

Zenyatta forgoes a bow, making a sound almost akin to a weary sigh, and floats back out the door. He repeats his mantra as he resumes his Sisyphean labor, attempting to reach the castle gate through the ever fluctuating streets.

As the echoes of the incensed voices and clanging swords of the oni fade in the distance, he becomes aware of another sound. A stealthy scrape, as of skittering claws, somewhere in the darkness behind him. He stops and the sound stops, as well. He waits and listens for a moment. Silence. As he begins moving again, the sounds resumes. He stops again. This time, the sound continues, accompanied by a whispered hiss, like scales sliding over stone.

“Namaste, my friend,” he says to the empty street.

A beat passes. Then another. Then all at once, a brilliant, jade-green light appears shimmering before his eyes, and coalesces into the form of what can only be described as a miniature dragon. He nearly laughs for delight at the beauty of the little thing. It is about the length of a housecat, but its smooth, emerald-scaled body is slender and lithe like a serpent. Its elongated snout is very recognizable as that of a dragon, as are its crested neck and the two long fangs that protrude downward from its mouth.

“Ah, it is you,” Zenyatta says, bowing and giving the Anjali Mudra in greeting. “You have been watching me for quite some time. You need not be afraid.”

The tiny beast approaches cautiously, and stops a pace or two before him. He holds out a metallic hand, palm upward. It inches closer, then stands up on its hind legs to snuff his hand with its little muzzle. Its forked tongue flicks in and out between its teeth, and its long tail swishes and curls expressively as it regards him with keen, black eyes.

“I seek the path to the castle, my friend,” he says. “Do you know the way?”

The dragon cocks its head as if considering this. Then it drops suddenly back onto all fours, and darts off down the street. Before it reaches the next intersection, however, it pauses and turns back, as if it is waiting for him to follow. He glides toward it, and it turns and trots on, keeping a rapid pace, but always staying within sight. The two strange companions follow a winding path through the gloomy streets and alleys, till at long last, they stand before the white gate, towering at least thirty meters overhead, and spanning the same width.

There is no gatekeeper to be seen, and no postern door by which to gain entry. Zenyatta has only begun to contemplate how he might overcome this obstacle, when the tiny dragon stands on its hind legs and pushes with its forelegs against one of the gate’s massive doors. Much to Zenyatta’s surprise, it swings easily open for its diminutive visitor.

“Thank you, my friend,” he says. “I am deeply in your debt.”

The dragon makes a soft, warbling sound in its throat, then turns and slinks into the close. Zenyatta follows it through a spacious courtyard, across a wooden footbridge, then down a curving garden path to a large, white hall with a red roof. The double-doors at the front of the building are open and there is movement within. The miniature dragon leaps up and scrambles onto his shoulder, coiling its tail about his neck to anchor itself, then gives a little chirp toward the doorway.

Zenyatta enters cautiously, but no one pays them the slightest heed. There is a scene of deadly import in progress, here. Twenty black-clad men are engaged in some debate with one another and speaking in urgent tones to two young men, who stand facing each other across the open space in the center of the room. Past them, hanging on the far wall, is a long parchment scroll bearing a family motto, and before it sits a mahogany rack, which displays two swords.

The young man on the far right of the room is pacing to and fro, pale and agitated. The young man on the left stands perfectly still and composed, regarding the first with a disdainful eye. One of the black-clad advisors whispers something to the first young man, who arrests his steps.

“You force me to this, Hanzo,” he says angrily, with a thick slur to his words, as if he is intoxicated. “I will place the evidence before the five families. They will decide who is worthy to be master.”

“Our father made his choice, Genji,” the one called Hanzo says coolly. “It was the correct one, as you make clear by your actions, again and again.”

“You will never be my master!” the one called Genji nearly shouts. “You have no right to rule the Shimada Clan!”

“You state openly that you challenge my claim, then,” Hanzo says, a fraction of a degree less coolly. “You would discard your word to our father and turn traitor to our family?”

“I am no traitor,” Genji spits. “I am the rightful heir. Firstborn son of my father, by his lawful wife. You are a bastard and no better than a common whore, like your mother.”

The advisors erupt in a torrent of heated argument, while the two brothers gaze silently at one another. Several of them begin speaking into Hanzo’s ear. He raises his hand, and all fall silent.

“Very well, Genji,” he says. “We will summon our ancestral spirits, and they will reveal the truth of the matter. Ah, but I am forgetting. You cannot summon a dragon, can you.”

“I do not need a dragon to best you!” Genji snarls, bristling with rage. “Give me a sword and I will prove it!”

Hanzo nods to an advisor. Two of them hurry over and remove the swords from the rack, placing one in Genji’s hands and the other in Hanzo’s. The swords come unsheathed, glittering like stars in the light of the many lanterns. Genji raises his sword and adopts a fighting stance. Hanzo lets his hang slack at his side, facing Genji at a half-turn.

“If it must be so, then I am prepared, brother,” he says. “Prove that you are worthy to lead the clan in my place.”

Genji leaps forward with blinding speed, swinging his sword in a bloodthirsty arc toward Hanzo’s neck. The blow glances off the blade of Hanzo’s sword, as he parries the strike with graceful ease. Genji leaps back, chambers, and advances again. Hanzo deflects his spinning slash and following thrusts without moving a step from the spot where he stands. Genji withdraws again and returns to his fighting stance.

Hanzo raises his sword and holds it leveled at Genji. The advisors give a collective gasp and hastily back away, as blue lightning snaps and sparks from the tattoo on the young master’s arm, traveling down through his hand, and all along the surface of the long, steel blade. Genji hurtles forward, rushing wildly to the attack. Hanzo speaks a command to the sword. A brilliant blue light bursts from it, in the form of two gigantic, ethereal dragons. The advisors fall on their knees. Some wail and hide their eyes. With a roar like the rushing of a great river, the dragons fly to meet Genji.

He has no time to react. No way to alter his trajectory. The dragons strike him with the force of a freight train, throwing him backward. The sword rack is smashed to splinters as he collides with it. Their momentum carries him back and pins his body to the wall against the hanging scroll. He stares at his brother, in blank, uncomprehending terror. His mouth opens as if to cry out, but no sound comes. Blood pours from between his parted lips in a crimson torrent as the dragons pass through him and vanish into the wall. Released from their hold, his lacerated body lurches forward and crumples lifeless to the floor.

The sword falls from Hanzo’s hand with a ringing clatter that echoes through the silent hall. Then all the advisors begin talking at once. Several rush over to examine the boy’s body. Hanzo stands motionless and white as marble, staring at the torn, blood-spattered scroll, as shouts of “Traitor!” and “The dragons have judged him!” erupt and fill the hall like the squawking of crows. Abruptly, as if a switch has been flipped, the noise stops and the scene freezes in place.

“They judged him rightly,” a voice says, beside Zenyatta. “He was a traitor.”

Zenyatta turns to see the black-clad oni from the tavern standing beside him, gazing upon the bloody tableau. The little dragon, who has been perched on Zenyatta’s shoulder, uncoils its tail and drops to the floor. The oni stoops and extends a hand, and the dragon clambers up his arm to hang about his neck.

“Perhaps he was a traitor,” Zenyatta replies, steepling his fingers thoughtfully. “And perhaps not.”

“Why have you come here?” the oni says, as he rises. “I told you that this place was a tomb.”

“A tomb is no place for living men, Shimada Genji. I have come to call you back to your own world.”

The oni shakes his head and turns to face the tragic still-life again. “I cannot go back. Even if I wished to do so…I do not know the way.”

“I will show you the way, my friend,” Zenyatta says. “You have only to take my hand, and we will leave this place together.”

The warm, golden glow that emanates from his body intensifies and expands in a brilliant ring, till it encompasses them both. As the pure light of the Iris falls full upon the oni’s leering, red-horned mask, it blackens and burns away like parchment before a flame, revealing the face of the boy who lies dead on the floor a few meters away. It is a noble face, young and beautiful, but filled with sorrow.

The boy hesitates for a long moment, as if he is wavering between two paths. Then he looks up at his Omnic companion with his own eyes, large and dark-grey and rimmed with tears.

“I am ready, master,” he says at last. “Show me the way.”

They reach out to take each other’s hands. As their fingers touch, the Iris around them ignites like a supernova, blinding the boy with its brilliance. He squeezes his eyes shut, but to no avail. The light continues to intensify, till his vision goes entirely white.

Gradually, he becomes aware of blurry, indistinct shapes moving in the whiteness, as if in a heavy fog. As his vision returns, these shapes grow more solid and begin to take on color and definition. He recognizes his Omnic guide, standing over him. His silver-toned face is different, and the crown is gone, replaced by turquoise lights in his forehead, but his _being_ is the same.

“I am here, master,” Genji says slowly, still unused to speaking with his physical voice. “I have come as you called.”

“It is well, my son,” Zenyatta replies. “For your friends have sorely missed you.”

Genji blinks about the room and smiles. Jesse, Claudia, Angela, and Commander Reyes are all standing a few feet away from the hospital bed on which he is lying, watching him with anxious concern.

“Why does everyone look so worried?” he asks innocently. “Have I been ill?”

“Yep, he’s back,” Gabe laughs. “Still a little shit, too.”

“I’ll ‘have I been ill’ you, ya fuckin space ninja,” Jesse says, unable to suppress the tremor of relief in his voice. “We been sittin’ here frettin’ over your cyborg ass for a week while Zenny’s been tryina get through to you.”

“Genji, I am so pleased to finally hear your voice,” Angela cuts in, stepping to his bedside. “I am Doctor—”

“Angela Ziegler,” Genji interrupts. “I know you, doctor. Yours was the first face I saw when I awakened, and we have passed many hours together, since. I am honored to make your proper acquaintance, at last.”

“Likewise,” Angela says graciously. “I hope I did not bore you too terribly with all of my rambling.”

“Not at all,” Genji smiles. “I have very much enjoyed our conversations, one-sided as they may have been.”

“I hate to break up this little love-in, but what’s goin’ on?” Jesse says impatiently. “Did it work? Is Genji back for good now?”

“He allowed me to find him and show him the way,” Zenyatta replies, with a bow. “Whether he remains with us will be his choice.”

“That means…what, exactly?” Gabe asks.

“It means that the interface was successful,” Angela answers. “Master Zenyatta was able to communicate with Genji and bring him out of his dormant state, but it is no guarantee that he will remain conscious.”

“Indeed,” Zenyatta says. “It is likely that he will need my assistance again. But in time, he will learn the path for himself.”

“The path?” Jesse and Gabe ask simultaneously.

“The way in which he may submerge his consciousness and return when he wishes. It is not unlike to the meditation we practice at the Shambali monastery.”

“I knew it!” Claudia exclaims. “I thought it seemed like deep meditation. His brain scans showed similar activity to Buddhist monks when they’re experiencing a religious trance. I mean, it’s obviously different because he wasn’t able to control the—” she breaks off and smiles sheepishly. “Sorry. I got excited. Please go on, Master Zenyatta.”

“Your insights are always welcome, doctor,” Zenyatta says cordially.

“They will be welcome, when we discuss the case in detail later,” Angela corrects. “Right now, I would like to hear from you and Genji about your experience with the interface.”

“If young master Shimada wishes to discuss his experience with you, he is free to do so,” Zenyatta says, with a polite dip of his chin. “But this is a matter which falls under the protection of my status as a spiritual advisor. As such, I am bound to confidentiality.”

“Ah, of course,” Angela replies, attempting to conceal her annoyance at this, and not entirely succeeding. “This is a rather singular case, in which spiritual and medical matters are somewhat…entangled. But I am sincerely grateful for your assistance, Master Zenyatta. You have done a wonderful thing.”

Zenyatta bows low. “I am merely the instrument of the Iris.”

“I will tell you what I can of my experience, Dr. Ziegler,” Genji says, smiling at her perturbed expression. “If the information will be of any use to you, that is. I am afraid much of it will sound like nonsense.”

“I thought you was unconscious,” Jesse says. “How’d you experience anything? Was it like dreamin’?”

“Very like,” Genji says. “And yet…unlike.”

“Now you sound like the flying monk, here,” Gabe says. “You going Buddhist on us, son?”

Genji steeples his fingers meditatively, as he had seen Zenyatta do at the castle. “Perhaps…and perhaps not.”

Zenyatta, Gabe, Claudia, and Jesse all laugh at the dead-on impression, and even Angela can’t help but smile.

“I must speak privately with my patient now,” she says, when the general mirth has subsided. “Master Zenyatta, thank you again for your help. Everyone else, come and say goodbye and then get out of my medbay. You people have been idling about in here for days. Does Blackwatch not have enough to do, Gabriel?”

“I’ve got plenty of shit to do,” Gabe grins. “I’ve just been hanging around because it annoys you so much.”

“And we been hangin’ around cause we can’t get in trouble for lollygaggin’ if we’re with the boss,” Jesse adds, with a nearly identical grin. “Later, Genj. I’ll come back soon as the doc says I can.”

“Goodbye, Jesse. Goodbye, Claws,” Genji says, looking after them anxiously. “I will see you soon.”

Angela lays a reassuring hand on his human shoulder. “I will call Jesse the moment we are finished, Genji. I see no reason why you should not be released today. Then you may go and spend time with your friends.”

Genji nods and relaxes somewhat. “Thank you, doctor. I have missed them very much.”

Angela sits in the chair beside his bed and studies his scarred face closely for a moment. “Being separated from Jesse appears to cause you some distress.”

“I…do not know,” he says. He turns his head and gazes thoughtfully at the ceiling. “Yes, I feel distressed when he is not near me. But I do not know why this should be. I have been far away from him for a long time.”

“Perhaps it is because he is the first strong attachment you have formed outside of your family.”

“He is.” Genji’s red eyes close in an expression of pain. “But I have no family, now. He is all that remains to me. I suppose that this is the cause of my distress.”

“It is alright to feel overwhelmed, my dear,” Angela says gently. “You have faced several deeply traumatic events in your life, one after another. Your resilience is actually quite astonishing.”

“You did not expect me to survive,” he says. It is not a question, simply a statement of fact, to which she does not make objection. “Why did you do so much to bring me back?”

“Because Jesse loves you. And because you are innocent, and you deserve better than to be cut down at the very beginning of your life.”

“I am not so innocent, doctor. I have done many things of which I would be ashamed to speak to you.”

She smiles. “You are innocent to me. You are also far too young to be held to account and punished for your errors forever. You must learn to forgive yourself, Genji. You will live a long time, and if you cannot live with yourself, life will become a great burden to you.”

“How long?” he says, looking at her apprehensively. “How long will I live, doctor?”

“I cannot say exactly, because I do not know. But unless your body is completely destroyed, you will live many times the lifespan of ordinary humans.”

“This is…not a comforting idea to me,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut again. “I do not wish to see people grow old and die while I live on.”

“It is always a painful thing, to lose those that you love. It will never be easy. But you will become more accustomed to living with death, as you grow older and your perspective changes.”

He opens his eyes and gazes up at her for a moment. “You speak as if you have some experience in this matter, doctor.”

“I do,” she says frankly. “I do not look it, but I am quite an old woman. I have already lived much longer than an ordinary human. Much longer than anyone has, as far as I know.”

He blinks. “Are you…like me? You do not look like me.”

“Not quite,” she laughs. “I am all human, for whatever that is worth. Your cybernetic body is superior to mine, which is simply the product of some very clever genetic engineering.”

“You must tell me of this,” he says eagerly. “I would like to know all about your life and your experiences.”

“I will tell you another time, my dear. If I do not let you go to Jesse soon, he will be plotting a prison break.”

“He will,” Genji laughs. “I think he suspects that you have been keeping me here for your own amusement.”

“Jesse is very much like his father,” she says archly. “He does not like to be told that he does not know better than other people, even when they are trained physicians. Now, let us speak of your interaction with Master Zenyatta. Then we will review your treatment plan and get your medical release finalized. Are you feeling up to all of that?”

Genji nods. “Yes. Thank you, doctor.”

 

 

Jesse is sitting on the smoking patio on the Junior officers’ floor, sulking and smoking a cigar. Commander Reyes had said something about needing to talk to Jack about…whatever bullshit, they’re probably just fucking, anyway. Claudia had stayed as long as she could, but eventually she’d had to return to work setting up her medbay. He grinds out the stub of his cigar and checks his phone again. No messages from Dr. Ziegler. What the actual fuck can be taking so long?

He is stuffing his phone back into his pocket, when his blood suddenly freezes at the feeling of a cold, sharp blade being pressed to his throat. He hadn’t heard a single sound or felt the subtle shift in the air that usually alerts him to someone else’s presence.

“Your next move will be your last, cowboy,” the blade’s owner hisses. “Choose it wisely.”

“Holy shit, Genj!” Jesse says breathlessly, ignoring the game entirely. “How the fuck you get the drop on me like that?”

“Jesse, you are supposed to act as if I am a real assassin,” Genji replies, withdrawing the blade. “Otherwise, what is the point of the exercise?”

“It ain’t worth it knowin’ I damn near pissed myself?”

“That is very amusing,” Genji grins. “I suppose I will give you a pass, this time.”

“Well thanks, Genj, that’s mighty kind of you,” Jesse laughs. “You ain’t answered me, though. How’d you do it?”

“I asked Dr. Ziegler not to call you. I wished to surprise you.”

“That ain’t what I meant, you metal menace. I meant I ain’t heard you comin’ or nothin’. No one sneaks up on me.”

Genji shrugs. “I am a trained assassin, Jesse. But perhaps my new body has some method of concealing itself with which you are not familiar.”

“Maybe so,” Jesse says, scratching his chin. “The doc ain’t told you what all it can do?”

“No. She says that Claws will be better able to explain its combat capabilities to me. I am supposed to find her and ask her about it, but not to bother her if she is busy.”

“I reckon she’s pretty busy today. She run off to her medbay a little while ago. Maybe we’ll catch up with her after regular duty hours. Get dinner or somethin’.”

“When is after regular duty hours? I am very hungry.”

“Ain’t for a while, yet. You still eat and everything?”

“Dr. Ziegler says that I can do so if I wish, but regular nutrition is not necessary to sustain my life, so long as I replenish my fluids frequently.”

“That a fact. I don’t know nothin’ about how all your robot parts work. Mine’s just an arm, and it don’t ask for much special attention.”

“I do not know how they work, either. They seem to function as my body always has, only I do not get tired as quickly and I do not need to use the restroom.”

Jesse looks genuinely impressed. “You don’t gotta piss or nothin’? Ever?”

“Dr. Ziegler says that this body processes nutrients differently, and I will produce no waste.”

“Huh. There’s gotta be more’n chips and wires in there, then. Cause I thought robots couldn’t eat on account of they don’t have guts or nothin’. But if you got ‘em, you must have the plumbing that goes with ‘em.”

“I do not have guts. The nanites process fluid and nutrition for me.”

“You got nanites?” Jesse says, going a bit pale. “Like them tiny robots that fuss around like a swarm of bees and can clump up and make theirselves look like a whole person, like in the movies?”

Genji frowns thoughtfully. “I do not think that they can do that in real life. Dr. Ziegler says they function like blood.”

“Well, I guess she knows,” Jesse says, shaking his head in bewilderment. “It’s too many for me.”

“Too many? How many do I have?”

“It’s just a expression. Like, I can’t wrap my head around it. I can’t understand it.”

“Ah, I see,” Genji says gravely. “Yes, it is too many for me, as well.”

“It don’t sound right when you say it,” Jesse laughs. “You can’t talk like a book and then drop in cowboy slang all willy-nilly, else you gonna give folks whiplash.”

“I suppose not. I will work on it.”

“You do that. Want to go to the mess?”

“What is the mess?”

“It’s like a big-ass restaurant with lotsa little restaurants inside it that ain’t that good. We’d go somewhere better, but I ain’t allowed to take you off base yet.”

“The mess will be satisfactory,” Genji says agreeably. “I have not eaten in several months, and I would like to try.”

“Mess it is. We better get you somethin’ to wear first, though. Can’t go around the common folk with all your robot parts out.”

“I suppose I am not very pleasant to look at,” Genji says, casting his red eyes down at his cybernetic body.

Jesse immediately feels a deep pang of remorse for his thoughtless words. “Aw, Genj, that ain’t what I meant. I think you look cool as shit. I just hate the idea of folks starin’ at you cause you ain’t like them.”

“I understand, Jesse. I do not wish to be stared at, either. But I do not think it can be avoided, so I may as well attempt to accustom myself to it.” Genji grins mischievously. “Besides, if they are impolite, you can teach them a lesson.”

“I reckon I won’t have to,” Jesse says, rising from the bench. “I wouldn’t fuck with you, if I didn’t know you. Let’s go to my room. You ain’t my size, but I got some of Ben’s clothes oughta fit you.”

“Who is Ben?” Genji asks, as he follows Jesse to the patio door.

“A friend,” Jesse says, avoiding his eye.

“You are certain he will not mind?”

“He got no use for ‘em. He had a kinda…growth spurt and they don’t fit no more. He left a few things in my room and I ain’t bothered to toss ‘em out yet.”

Sensing that this Ben is a delicate subject for his friend, Genji simply nods and does not pursue the issue further.

In Jesse’s room, they find a pair of tight, black jeans that fit him, but the t-shirts are all short sleeved, and will be of little use. Jesse thinks for a minute, and then goes to his closet. He comes back with the Blackwatch hoodie that Claudia gave him. It fits Genji rather loosely, but he appears pleased with it, and likes the fact that he can pull the hood up to conceal his face. With Genji now appropriately attired, they head down to the mess, to procure what will be his first meal since he was brought to Swiss Headquarters from Hanamura.

 

 

 

 


	107. Together

Lieutenant Benjamin Hunter (the nice-looking, dark-haired young man from the Vancouver bureau, who filled in for Beckett when she was away) has now been permanently transferred to HQ to fill a position that no one can quite figure out. Captain Beckett knows the details, because of course she does, but she has stonewalled when questioned on the subject. All she will admit to is that he is serving in some sort of administrative capacity. Naturally, the result has been that people are more curious than ever about the young Canadian transplant.

So far, they have assessed that he can’t be acting as a regular admin because a) he has never been seen doing any administrative work, and b) he did not train in the program required for all HQ administrative staff. One imaginative (and rather new) member of the admin pool suggests that maybe Beckett is pregnant and planning to leave, and Lt. Hunter is being trained to replace her. This is met by actual laughs from the more seasoned staff, prompting their young colleague to retire from speculating and go back to minding her own business.

What makes the mystery even more tantalizing, is that Lt. Hunter appears to have become something of a favorite with the Almighty (the Almighty being their affectionate nickname for the Strike-Commander). The two men have been seen dining together in the mess, sparring together in the training arena, and Lt. Hunter has even been added to the away-team (away-team being their affectionate nickname for the small, elite cadre of indispensable individuals who accompany the Strike-Commander when he makes any official travel). As juicy as this tidbit is, no one even considers asking the away-team about it. They are more tight-lipped than the Secret Service and twice as scary.

One night, over drinks in the officers’ lounge, a staff member (who has been around a while and really should know better) casually suggests that perhaps the Strike-Commander’s enthusiasm for his new protégé is more than professional. This is met with such an icy response, that he feels compelled to buy the next round, and then beat a hasty retreat to meditate on the virtue of keeping his theories to himself.

The most exasperating aspect of the entire thing is that questioning Lt. Hunter about it is not an option. He is under the Strike-Commander’s wing, and whatever his function is, it is apparently not intended to be a matter of common knowledge. Since no one is laissez faire enough about their career prospects to be the one who is caught pestering the Almighty’s new favorite for details regarding his obviously confidential duties, the mystery persists as a matter of intense conjecture and hushed conversation.

Ben is aware of the curiosity of the general staff regarding his presence at Overwatch HQ. People look at him as if he is some kind of rare animal, and whisper about him when he passes. They are unaware of his enhanced hearing, but they never say anything outright malicious. Mostly, their talk consists of speculation regarding what he might be up to, and commenting on his status as the Strike-Commander’s favorite. He holds his head high and doesn’t let it get to him. If the worst they’ve got is referring to him as the Commander’s pet, then fine. He’s not even sure it’s not true, anyway.

Ostensibly, he’ll eventually have something to actually do as a security double, but so far, his major function has been to keep him company. He can’t help but be amused by the idea that he’s making a living being Jack Morrison’s friend. That is not to say he doesn’t earn his salary. By default, he has begun to fall into the role of a kind of social secretary between Jack and Gabe, making calls, relaying messages between the two of them, and coordinating their free time so they can see each other as much as possible. This doesn’t really feel like work, though, because he thoroughly enjoys it. As far as he’s concerned, it’s the best job in the world, and all he’d had to do to get it was accept a permanently life-altering (and he’s fairly certain, wildly illegal) genetic enhancement and undergo massive, full-body plastic surgery. Not a bad deal.

Jesse is another issue. Ben is not consciously avoiding him, but he’s with Jack every day for as long as he works, which is often late into the evening. When he gets back to his quarters well past 2300, from a more than sixteen hour day, the last thing he wants is to engage in a painful and complicated discussion about their relationship falling apart. Jesse seems to have gotten the idea on his own, anyway. He doesn’t text or call much, and he doesn’t show up at Jack’s office to take him to lunch or dinner anymore. It’s not the ideal way to break it off, but there’s no good way to do it, and quietly letting go seems to be the least painful solution for both of them.

He wishes sometimes that things had been different. He’s grateful to Jesse for bringing him into this new life, and without him, his face would still be destroyed, and he’d probably still be whoring at the Rawhide. But if they’d just remained friends and not allowed their loneliness to prod them into a relationship that was never going to work, he wouldn’t have this sadness and guilt clinging to him and tainting his enjoyment of all these new and exciting experiences.

He hopes Jesse is ok, but he doesn’t know who to ask about him. He did mention to Jack that they are no longer seeing each other romantically, but he hadn’t elaborated on the situation, and he doesn’t really talk to anyone else but Gabe. He hasn’t said anything to Gabe, for obvious reasons, and because he prefers to avoid reminding the man who is his boss and Jack’s husband that he essentially got this job because he was sleeping with his son.

He wants Gabe to respect him and like him for his own sake, like Jack seems to. Gabe appears to think of him as a young employee and not much else, as evidenced by the fact that when Jack has him call down to Gabe’s office this evening to ask what time he’ll be home, Gabe answers briskly, and hangs up without another word.

Unknown to Ben, however, Gabe is in the middle of a rather heated argument with Angela at the moment, regarding a mission he has assigned to Jesse and Genji. His abrupt tone is due to the fact that Angela is glaring at him and tapping her foot impatiently.

“Jack’s the boss, Angela,” he says, as he hangs up the phone. “When his office calls, I have to answer it, no matter who’s in here yelling at me.”

“I am not yelling at you,” Angela retorts. “I am merely explaining to you that what you are doing is dangerous, foolish, irresponsible, and unacceptable.”

“Don’t try to to butter me up. I know it’s none of those things.”

“Gabriel, please do not be clever. I am not in the mood. How can you think that it is a good idea to send Genji on an overseas assignment so soon?”

“Genji has been cleared for duty, Angela. This is the job. And it’s not like I’m sending him into combat. He’s going to a small, coastal town in Mexico with my best agent to do some very simple recon work. They’ll be in and out in twenty-four hours and they won’t be in any unreasonable danger.”

“I suppose we have different definitions of ‘unreasonable,’ then.”

“Look, I know you’re worried about Genji, but he’s going to be alright. This kind of mission is the perfect opportunity for us to see how he fares in the field without putting too much pressure on him. Besides, Claudia is going to be with them, so you know they won’t get into any shenanigans.”

“Well, perhaps you are right,” Angela says, softening somewhat. “I would prefer it if his first mission were something closer to home, but if Dr. Oberkampf is there to keep them from doing anything foolish, then I suppose it should be alright.”

“It will be. Jesse knows what he’s doing and he’d never let Genji get hurt.”

“Wait a moment,” she frowns. “Gabriel, do you think that my concern is for Genji’s safety? I assure you that it is quite the contrary. He is, as I have said, a highly advanced weapon. If he becomes unstable, he could pose a danger to innocent civilians and possibly to the members of his team. Including Jesse.”

“I see. Do you think it’s likely that he’ll become unstable?”

“I do not think it is very likely at this point, no,” she admits. “Master Zenyatta has made great strides with him. But I do not consider any caution to be excessive when it comes to Jesse’s safety.”

“Aw, Angela,” Gabe says, with a broadening grin. “You’re such a good grandma.”

“I—what? What are you talking about?”

“Granny Angie, all worried about her grandbaby. It’s so sweet!”

Angela tosses her head. “Do not be disgusting, Gabriel. I am merely acting as a responsible physician.”

“Nah, you’re being a protective grandma,” Gabe says. He rises from his chair and steps around the desk. “Come here, I’m gonna give you a hug.”

“You will do no such thing!” Angela says, hopping up and backing away, as Gabe advances with outstretched arms. “I do not hug, Gabriel, get away from me!”

“Aw, come on, nana!” Gabe laughs, as she retreats from his office. “Hug your grandbaby’s daddy!”

The door bangs shut behind her, and Gabe continues to laugh as he taps his computer screen to approve the mission paperwork and send it off to ops. Then he checks the time, pulls on his hoodie, and heads out for the evening.

He arrives at Jack’s quarters to find him lounging on the couch in navy-blue pajama pants and a white t-shirt, ignoring the news and tapping at the screen of his tablet. Jack glances up and smiles as Gabe enters, then returns to his work. Gabe goes to the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of water from the fridge. He comes back sipping it and eyeing Jack’s ensemble.

“Nice pajamas,” he says. “I haven’t seen you wear those in a while.”

“Hm?” Jack says, looking up from the tablet again. “Oh, yeah. I guess I was feeling nostalgic.”

Gabe cocks an eyebrow. “Nice try, Ben. Where’s Jack?”

The blonde sighs and tosses the tablet onto the sofa. “Jack! It didn’t work!”

“God damn it!” Jack’s voice calls out from the bedroom.

Ben grins at Gabe and reaches up to switch off the voice modulator, the control for which has since been implanted beneath the skin behind his left ear.

“He was sure we’d get you this time,” he says, with his own voice.

Jack emerges shaking his head ruefully. “I can’t believe it didn’t work. He’s in my pj’s and everything.”

“I keep telling you two, I’ll never fall for it,” Gabe laughs, hooking his arm around Jack’s waist and kissing his forehead.

“But how can you tell?” Jack pouts. “No one else can. Not even Ana.”

“It’s…a lot of little things,” Gabe says. “Now give it a rest and stop wasting Ben’s time trying to pull pranks on me.”

“Oh, I really don’t have anything better to do,” Ben chirps. “My whole job is looking like Jack and following him around.”

“See, Gabe?” Jack says. “It’s his job. If I don’t keep him busy, I’ll be wasting Overwatch resources.”

“I don’t think trying to trick your husband falls under reasonable use of your budget, mi sol. And it’s way after duty hours anyway, so it’s not really any of the accounting department’s business. Ben, shouldn’t you be off doing young people things with Jesse?”

“Gabe, for fuck’s sake!” Jack hisses, pinching him on the arm.

“What?” Gabe says, glancing back and forth between the two Jacks. “Did I miss something?”

Ben shifts uncomfortably and looks away.

“They’re not… _together_ anymore,” Jack says in an undertone. “Try being like, the least bit considerate, maybe?”

“How the fuck was I supposed to know that?” Gabe whispers. “Jesse doesn’t tell me anything.”

“Hey, guys, I can hear you,” Ben calls from the sofa. “Super-soldier hearing, remember?”

“Sorry, Ben,” Gabe says. “I really had no idea. I didn’t mean to be an asshole.”

“For once,” Jack adds helpfully.

“How are you doing?” Gabe asks.

“I’m ok,” Ben says. “We’re still friends and everything. It won’t be a problem, I promise.”

“I know. I’m not worried about that,” Gabe says. “But I thought things were good between you. What happened?”

“Well…this.” Ben gestures at himself.

“You didn’t tell me that was the reason,” Jack says. He disentangles himself from his husband and crosses to the sofa to sit beside his double. “What did he say?”

Ben shrugs. “He didn’t really say anything. After I got back, we were both busy and when we saw each other, things were weird. We stopped having sex, and then we just kind of…stopped spending time together, too.”

“I’m so sorry, Ben,” Jack says. “I should have realized that this would be hard for him.”

“Please don’t be. I expected this, actually. It’s sad that it’s over and everything, but Jesse and I were never going to be a long-term deal. I mean…he’s in love with someone else.”

“You mean Hanzo,” Gabe frowns. “You understand Hanzo broke his heart and nearly murdered his best friend, right?”

“Yeah, I know. But that doesn’t change the fact that he loves him, and it doesn’t make him love me. So, I can make us both miserable trying to hang onto him, or I can let him go and we can move on. It hurts, but in the long run, we’ll be better off.”

“That’s…a surprisingly mature perspective for a twenty-five-year-old kid,” Jack says. “When I was twenty-five, I was still in denial about my sexuality and my mental illness and trying to bury it all by being a perfect soldier.”

“I’ve been around the block a few times, Jack,” Ben says, with a bitter smile. “You don’t wake up one day and say, ‘I think I’ll have sex with strangers for money,’ if you haven’t been through some shit that grew you up too fast.”

“I guess…I never thought about it,” Jack says. “I’m sorry.”

Ben shakes his head. “No, don’t apologize. I have a fucking unbelievable job now and I’m excited about my life for the first time since I left Canada. That’s because of you guys. I knew this would end things between Jesse and I, but I don’t need a boyfriend to be happy. I don’t want one. I want to do things on my own and for myself. Maybe it’s selfish, but I care about living my life the way I want to more than trying to draw out a doomed relationship with a guy who will never love me the way I—” Ben’s voice chokes with emotion and he looks away.

“The way you deserve,” Jack says, wrapping an arm around him. “You do deserve to be loved, Ben. You deserve to be with someone you love and who loves you more than anything in the world. The way Gabe and I love each other.”

“Pfft, I don’t even like you,” Gabe smirks. “I’m just in it for that ass.”

“See?” Jack says. “Gabe gets away with saying shit like that because I love him too much to kill him.”

“Yeah, yeah, you couldn’t kill me if you tried,” Gabe calls back from the kitchen. “You two hungry? I’m cooking.”

“Uh, sure,” Ben says. “If Jack doesn’t mind feeding me again. I’ve already eaten here like, three times this week.”

“Of course I don’t mind. We love having you around,” Jack says. “I’ve got a bunch of other clothes for you to go through, anyway.”

“Clothes?” Gabe asks, as he pulls out a cast iron skillet. “Jack, you foisting your old junk onto my agent?”

“Ben grew out of all of his,” Jack says. “I have a ton of clothes in great condition that I don’t wear anymore, so he may as well take a look.”

“Alright, you girls go have your fashion show,” Gabe says. “Dinner should be about a half hour.”

“I keep the things we don’t wear often in here,” Jack says, as he leads Ben to one of the guest rooms.

They step in and Ben looks around. The room has a queen-sized bed with white and blue linens, oak night tables and dresser, and framed paintings of Swiss landscapes on the walls. He thinks it looks a lot like a room in a nice hotel: comfortable, but a little empty and impersonal. Then Jack slides open the mirrored closet door. The closet is absolutely packed to the seams with clothing on hangers and shoes in boxes on the floor.

“Holy shit,” Ben laughs. “I thought you were exaggerating when you said a ton of clothes, but this might be a literal ton.”

“Hey, at my age, you tend to have collected some things,” Jack says, pulling out some shirts and laying them on the bed. “I can’t even imagine how much I’ve gotten rid of. So, basically everything in here is fair game. Just grab whatever looks good and try it.”

Ben flashes a brilliant smile. “Thanks Jack, this is really generous of you.”

Jack goes to the closet and pulls out a few more things for Ben to peruse, as Ben selects a black button-down from the items on the bed and pulls off his t-shirt.

“Christ, you really do look like me,” Jack says. “You even have my scars.”

“Yeah, they did the whole shebang,” Ben says, as he tries on the shirt. “Apparently, I’m you head to toe. So, I don’t mean to brag, but…I’ve basically seen you naked.”

“I guess you have,” Jack laughs. “So, how do you like being a scarred old man?”

Ben snorts. “Yeah, cause that’s what you are.”

“What? I am!”

“Jack, they had to turn me into an actual superhuman to make me as hot as you, so don’t try that ‘I’m an old man’ shit on me. Look.” He pulls off the button-down shirt and pats his chiseled abdomen. “How many old men do you know who have a six-pack like this?”

“Well, Gabe does. And he’s even older than me.”

“Yeah, but Gabe doesn’t count,” Ben says. He runs his finger along a curved slash above his hip bone. “What are all these scars even from? No one told me.”

“They wouldn’t have known. They just used Angela’s notes and body scans to do the surface and structural work, right? Let me see.” Jack peels off his black t-shirt and touches the scar above his own hip, identical to the one Ben had pointed out. “This was shrapnel from an explosive mine.” He taps his fingertips to a spray of star-shaped marks along his left side. “These were from a Bastion unit. And this—” he traces several thin, faded lines that cut diagonally across his stomach “—was concertina wire. It’s from back in my Marines days, way before I was a super-soldier.”

“How did it happen?” Ben asks, turning to examine his matching scars in the mirror.

Jack turns and looks into the mirror, too, gazing at their twin reflections. “I was taken with some of the men from my unit and held hostage in an enemy camp. I escaped and went back to get them, and I had to crawl over some to get in undetected.”

“Wow. So, you were already a hero before the SEP and everything.”

“No, I just—I was doing my duty,” Jack says self-consciously. “I wasn’t a hero. I’m not one now.”

Ben turns and looks at him with his own bright-blue eyes. “I think you are.”

Jack gazes into them for a moment. “Ben, can I…can I touch your face?”

“Sure,” Ben smiles. “I mean, it’s yours. I’m just borrowing it.”

Jack reaches out and strokes Ben’s cheek with his fingertips. It seems so natural to do so. Ben mirrors the gesture, then they both laugh.

“It’s weird, right?” Ben says. “Seeing your own face on someone else? I don’t think it’s as weird for me, since I’m not used to looking like you, but it’s still strange to have an identical twin.”

“Yeah, I just…yeah,” Jack says. “They did really amazing work. You look a little different to me, but it’s the way we look different to ourselves in photos, because we’re so used to seeing our reflections reversed in the mirror.”

Ben cocks his head to one side. “Do you ever…wonder what it would be like to—”

“Kiss myself?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

All at once, their mouths are pressed together in a feverish kiss, lips parted and tongues caressing ravenously, till they are both breathless and flushed with heat.

“Holy shit,” Ben gasps, when Jack pulls away. “That was—you’re, um—wow.”

“Yeah,” Jack echoes. “Wow.”

At that moment, Gabe comes down the hall. Jack and Ben turn to look at him as he steps in and stops in the doorway. They are both shirtless, with their blonde hair identically mussed and their lips still wet and kiss-bruised.

Gabe crosses his arms and eyes them suspiciously. “Were you two making out?”

“No!” Jack exclaims, blushing to the ears. “Yes. A little. But I can explain.”

“Hey, you don’t have to explain it to me,” Gabe replies, leaning against the door frame with a devilish grin. “But you really should’ve let me watch.”

“You’re…not mad?” Jack asks.

Gabe laughs outright. “Mad? I’ve been this close to offering some kind of sacrifice to the god of hot twins to make that very thing happen, baby. I am pretty mad that I missed it, though.”

“Well, too bad,” Jack retorts, as he hastily pulls on his shirt. “We kissed once because I was curious. My curiosity is satisfied now and there’s no reason for it to happen again.”

“Right, Jack,” Gabe smirks. “It was for science.”

“Um, I kissed Jack because he’s sexy and I really wanted to, and not for science,” Ben offers. “Is that ok?”

“As long as he was into it, then absolutely,” Gabe says, turning to head back to the kitchen. “Come eat dinner. And put a shirt on before Jack gets to feeling scientific again.”

The moment he is out of sight, Jack grabs Ben and pulls him into another kiss, more urgent and forceful than the first. Ben’s hands slide down onto his ass, and he presses his hard cock against Jack’s through their pants. Jack feels almost drunk. Lightheaded and giddy with this bizarre new sensation. He wonders vaguely how narcissistic he must be to want to fuck himself this badly.

“You two little shits!” Gabe shouts from the kitchen, making them laugh and break the kiss. “Get the fuck in here! You can make out after dinner!”

Ben pulls on his shirt and follows Jack out to the dining room, where Gabe is setting full plates on the table. Jack sits down unsteadily and swallows a full glass of water before he even looks at his meal. They eat in comfortable silence for the most part, having spent enough time together over the past several months to get over the urge to force polite conversation. Or rather, Gabe and Ben eat. Jack pokes at his food with his fork, too caught up in his thoughts to be interested in eating.

He catches himself staring at Ben, then blushes like a schoolgirl when he looks up and Gabe is grinning knowingly. Why isn’t Gabe more bothered by this? Jack is his husband and Ben is another man. He wonders if it’s similar to what he is experiencing. Maybe Gabe isn’t upset because this isn’t some other man he is attracted to. It’s himself.

As if he has read his mind, Ben breaks the silence. “Gabe, you said it was ok that I kissed Jack, as long as he was into it, right?”

Gabe nods. “That’s right.”

“It doesn’t bother you at all?”

“Nope,” Gabe says, through a mouthful of Mexican rice. Jack frowns at this, so he swallows the bite thoroughly before he begins again. “I’m not jealous or anything, if that’s what you mean.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Ben says musingly. “I didn’t think you’d mind, or I wouldn’t have done it. But, what about…other things?”

Gabe raises an eyebrow. “Other things like what?”

“Well, purely hypothetically, would it bother you if we had sex?”

“It would bother me if Jack were dishonest about it or hid it from me,” Gabe shrugs. “But not because of the sex. It would bother me in that case because it would mean he had needs or desires I couldn’t fulfill, and that he felt he couldn’t trust me to understand that.”

“I don’t have needs you can’t fulfill, Gabe,” Jack interjects. “I love you.”

“I know you love me, cariño, and I love you too, but that’s unrealistic,” Gabe says, smiling at his husband’s troubled expression. “It would be egomaniacal of me to think I am some kind of omnipotent being who can utterly satisfy your every want and need at all times. I can’t. I’m just a person. But I want you to have what you need to feel happy and fulfilled, too. It logically follows that I wouldn’t be opposed to—”

“I don’t want _you_ to fuck other people, though,” Jack cuts him off. “That would be a huge double-standard, for me to expect you to be ok with it if I did. That wouldn’t be right and it wouldn’t be fair.”

“Jack, it doesn’t have to be even to be fair. It would bother you if I wanted to fuck someone else, and I know that. I also don’t feel the slightest inclination to do so. I don’t need or want that. Maybe you do. That’s not an inequality in the relationship, it’s just a difference in the way we’re wired.”

“Excuse me, I just, uh—restroom,” Ben mutters, rising hastily from his seat and retreating down the hall.

“Gabe, why are you talking this way?” Jack demands. He gets up and begins to pace anxiously. “You’re acting like I should just go fuck that boy without a care in the world. Like we’re not even married.”

Gabe slides out of his chair steps around the table to catch him in a comforting embrace.

“Jack, listen to me,” he says. “You are my husband. I love you and I know you love me, and that will never change. But there is something happening between you and Ben, and I want you to know it’s ok with me if you decide to explore it.”

“Gabe, please,” Jack says, nearly in tears. “I don’t understand. You’re acting like this is nothing.”

“No, Jack, I’m not saying it’s nothing, I’m saying it’s _something_. I can’t explain what it is or how I know, but I know It’s important. It’s something you need, and it’s not something I can give you.”

“You’re…you’re saying you want me to have sex with Ben?”

“I don’t think you’re going to be able to stop yourself. I wouldn’t be able to resist another you.”

“Exactly. So shouldn’t that be something we do together?”

“No way,” Gabe laughs. “Ben may look like you now, but he is still my son’s ex boyfriend. There aren’t enough therapists in the world to unfuck what it would do to my head if I had sex with him knowing that.”

Jack frowns. “But you think I should.”

“Jesse’s not your kid, Jack. It’s not the same. I mean, you did make out with him, so—ow! No pinching, it was a joke! All I’m saying is that you should have sex with Ben if you want to.”

“But here? In our house, with you here? Wouldn’t that be a little bit…extremely weird?”

“Well, I mean, I didn’t say I wasn’t going to watch,” Gabe grins. “I just said I can’t be part of the actual fucking.”

“You…oh,” Jack says, suddenly dizzy, as all the blood that should be in his head is rushing into his cock. “Holy fuck, Gabe.”

“You like that idea,” Gabe purrs in his ear. He slides a hand up around his throat and squeezes. “You like the idea of performing for me, don’t you. Being fucked with a big, hard dick while I watch.”

“I—ah! Yes, I…I do,” Jack pants, as Gabe’s teeth graze his earlobe. Then he pulls away. “Wait, hang on. We don’t even know if that’s something Ben would want to do.”

“Ben, I know you’re hiding because shit got awkward,” Gabe calls down the hallway. “You can come back now.”

They hear the bathroom door open and Ben steps cautiously back into the room.

“Ben,” Gabe says. “Jack is not sure you’d be interested in having sex with him, so I thought we’d just clear it up and ask you.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Ben laughs. “Because of course yes.”

“Really?” Jack says, turning to his double. “Just like that? You would be into—”

“Having sex with you? Um, are there people who wouldn’t?”

“No sane people,” Gabe says. “Also, I want to watch. I mean, Jack with another Jack. It’d be a crime against humanity if someone didn’t witness it.”

“Gabe, you know it’s not polite to refer to Ben as another me, right?” Jack says.

“I can be another you,” Ben says cheerfully. “It’s my job. Plus, I love roleplay. I’ll put the voice modulator back on and everything.”

Gabe crosses himself and mutters what appears to be a prayer of thanks in Spanish. “He loves roleplay, Jack. I might actually weep.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “We’re not doing this if you’re going to be ridiculous about it, Gabe.”

“Jack, you seem kind of tense,” Ben says smoothly, stepping between them. “Why don’t we go into the bedroom and talk for a little while.”

“I—I…ok,” Jack says, looking apprehensively into his own face.

Ben smiles reassuringly. “We’re just going to relax and have a chat. Gabe, we’ll call for you when we need you, ok?”

“Take your time,” Gabe grins, “And, uh, don’t forget the voice mod.”

Ben gives him a thumbs-up and presses the switch as he leads Jack into the bedroom, shutting the door behind them. Jack sits on the edge of the bed and rubs his hands together anxiously.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Ben says, sitting down beside him. “It’s just you and me now, ok? I feel like you’re uncomfortable with all of this.”

“Not uncomfortable,” Jack says. “Just nervous. I haven’t been with anyone but Gabe in a really long time. I’ve…actually never had sex with a man besides him.”

Ben blinks. “Oh. Wow. That’s a big deal, Jack. Are you sure you want to?”

“I do, but I have to be perfectly honest with you. I think…I think I want to do it because you’re _not_ like another man. You’re—”

“You?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s ok. It doesn’t make me feel bad about myself or anything. Is that what you’re worried about?”

“I guess it is, yeah.”

“Jack, you’re not using me,” Ben laughs. “I would wear a full-body gorilla costume if that’s what you were into. Do you not know how fucking incredibly sexy you are? Is that possible?”

“I—no. I’m not used to thinking of myself in those terms. I don’t have the bandwidth to feel any way about myself, let alone sexy. I feel…old. And tired. And stressed out and confused and angry, and I just—sometimes I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“You feel alienated from yourself.”

“Yes.”

“Because you don’t relate to yourself as Jack, the person. You relate to yourself as Strike-Commander Jack Morrison, savior of the world and guy everyone blames whenever anything goes wrong in it.”

Jack nods.

“Look at me,” Ben says. He pulls off his shirt and stands in front of Jack. “Forget all that Strike-Commander bullshit and just look at me. What do you see?”

“You’re…beautiful,” Jack says hoarsely.

“ _You_ are beautiful.”

Jack shakes his head, wiping away a sudden tear.

“You are,” Ben says softly, stepping between Jack’s knees. “You can’t look at this body and keep denying it. It’s yours. Touch it, Jack.”

Jack lets his forehead drop onto Ben’s stomach and slides his hands up onto his hips. Ben twines his fingers into Jack’s pale blonde hair, carding them through it as Jack presses his mouth to the ridges of his taut abdomen. He is working his fingertips down Jack’s scalp, when he stops abruptly. There is a scar that he doesn’t recognize, hidden by his hair on the back of his head.

Jack pulls away. “What’s wrong?”

“You have a scar here, under your hair,” Ben says, reaching back to search his own scalp with his fingertips. He frowns. “I don’t have that one.”

“No, you…you wouldn’t. Angela wouldn’t have included it with her notes and scans.”

“Why? What is it from?”

Jack looks up at his double for a long moment. “It’s an exit wound from a nine millimeter bullet.”

“An exit…an exit wound,” Ben repeats, suddenly turning pale. “But that means—”

“I shot myself in the head.”

“Jesus Christ, Jack. Why? How? How are you even alive?”

“I thought I was ready for death. Death disagreed.”

“But why? Why did you want to die?” Ben demands, through the tears that are already starting in his eyes. “How could you do that to yourself? How could you do that to Gabe?”

“I lost my family in the Crisis. All of them at once,” Jack says, with a weary sigh. “I couldn’t live with the pain. I told you, I’m not a hero. I’m a coward.”

“No. No, you’re not,” Ben says firmly. “At least you had a real reason. I never told Jesse this, so please don’t say anything to him, but…after that pig destroyed my face, I tried to overdose on my pain meds. Lulu caught me and took them away. She hid them and would only give them to me one at a time when I was supposed to have them. She saved my life. I was angry with her at first, but then Jesse showed up and brought the doctor and everything changed. Now I’m glad she did. But what a fucking shit reason, right? Because I wasn’t pretty anymore and I couldn’t model. It was nothing compared to yours.”

“That’s not a good reason to die, but I understand it,” Jack says. “Losing your career and all your hopes and dreams for your future. I get why you’d feel hopeless.”

“And I understand why you’d want to die after you lost your family. I’m sorry I flipped out. I just…I couldn’t understand how someone so fucking amazing, who everyone loves so much, could want to commit suicide.”

Jack shakes his head. “Everyone loving you doesn’t matter if you can’t love yourself.”

“Exactly,” Ben says, sitting down beside him again. “You need to learn to love yourself, Jack.”

He’d intended to approach this situation far more playfully, but he hadn’t realized how very badly Jack might need it. Gabe had realized it, though. And he’d put on all that bluff about wanting to watch so Jack would feel more comfortable with the idea. Well, maybe not all of it, but his own entertainment certainly wasn’t his goal. Gabe is really an amazing man. 

“So…you want to see if there are any other scars they missed?” he says, with a mischievous smile.

“Absolutely,” Jack says, sounding immensely relieved.

They stand at the same time and peel quickly out of their clothing, suddenly impatient to feel each other skin to skin. Jack pauses for a beat, casting his eyes over Ben’s naked body, then their mouths and chests are pressed together again, groping and kissing and caressing with eager intensity. Ben pushes Jack down onto the bed and straddles him, pressing kisses into his chest. Jack gasps and gives a soft moan as Ben’s teeth graze his right nipple. Thus encouraged, Ben takes hold of his left nipple too, pinching and twisting it gently between his fingers as he teases the right one with his tongue and teeth.

After a moment, he pulls back and begins to kiss a long line down Jack’s chest and stomach. He takes Jack’s cock in his hand and sweeps his tongue across the leaking slit. Jack groans and bucks his hips as Ben laps slow circles around swollen head. Then he looks up into Jack’s eyes and takes him into his mouth in one long, deliberate swallow. His hot, wet throat squeezes on Jack’s cock as he withdraws slowly, then swallows it again.

“Wait,” Jack pants. “Flip around. Fuck my mouth while you suck me.”

Ben gladly obliges, pivoting to straddle Jack’s head with his knees. As he does, he sees that at some point, Gabe had slipped in unnoticed, and is sitting in a chair across the room, watching them with his dark, piercing eyes. Ben flashes him a wicked grin as his cock slides into Jack’s open, eager mouth, then he dips down to swallow him again. His blonde head bobs on Jack’s cock taking it deeper each time, letting himself choke on it, then pulling back and diving again as Jack sucks him closer and closer to the edge. He resists thrusting, but Jack’s mouth and throat are milking his dick, breaking his concentration, and driving him headlong toward climax. Finally, he pulls back, flushed and gasping.

“I’m gonna come soon,” he says, his already husky voice wrecked and gravelly.

“So am I,” Jack rasps, in his identical voice. “I want to come in your mouth. Can you come at the same time?”

Ben nods and they slide back into each other’s mouths, sucking and stroking and grinding theirs hips, till they simultaneously go rigid. Ben comes hard, spurting into Jack’s throat just as Jack’s cock spasms, filling his mouth, with hot, salty fluid. He swallows it eagerly, then collapses sideways (so as not to kick Jack in the head) and lies there dizzy and breathless. After a moment, he turns over and crawls up to kiss him. Their tongues roll lazily over each other, and Jack hums approvingly at their mingled taste. When he draws away, Ben looks down at their wet, ruddy, still rock-hard cocks.

“Holy shit,” he laughs. “Being a super-soldier has some fringe benefits, huh?”

Jack grins. “It’s a blessing and a curse. Right now it’s a blessing, because I still want to fuck you.”

He sits up to get the lube from the night table drawer, and locks eyes with his husband. Gabe’s firm mouth curls slightly at the corners as they look at each other. Jack’s heart skips a beat and his stomach flutters. Finally, he tears himself from Gabe’s gaze and fumbles in the drawer for the lube. He had planned to have Ben ride him, but this changes his mind. If Gabe wants to watch, Jack is going to give him a show.

He leans over and whispers in Ben’s ear. Ben nods and moves to the center of the bed, where he stands on his knees facing Gabe. Jack kneels behind him and grabs him by a handful of his blonde hair. Ben gasps as Jack yanks his head backward and holds him that way, spine arched, chest heaving, cock standing erect between his legs.

Gabe’s hand drops into his lap, slowly unfastening his belt and fly, as he watches Jack fondle and tease his identical twin’s nipples. He looks into Jack’s bright blue eyes as he eases his big, heavy cock out of his pants, and palms lightly down the shaft, raising an eyebrow as if in challenge.

Jack lets go of Ben and pushes him roughly onto his hands and knees. “Spread yourself open for me.”

Ben obeys, lowering his chest onto the mattress, and reaching back with both hands to spread his ass apart. Jack picks up the bottle of lube and drizzles it over his exposed asshole.

“Such a pretty little hole,” he says, sliding a finger around the rim. “I see why Gabe likes it so much.”

Gabe wraps his hand around the base of his cock and begins to stroke it idly, as Jack works his fingers inside, stretching and slicking Ben’s tight hole, till he is whining and rocking his hips, trying to get more inside him. He hooks his fingers and finds the spot. Ben shakes and groans, cock drooling onto the mattress as Jack plucks his prostate like a guitar string.

“Jack, please!” he sputters. “Please, fuck me. Fuck me!”

Jack slowly withdraws his fingers, then slicks his cock with lube and presses the swollen head against Ben’s taut opening. Ben gives strangled cry and arches his back as Jack penetrates him, pushing his thick, rigid cock through the resistant ring of muscle. Jack takes him by the hips and gazes into Gabe’s fierce brown eyes, sinking deeper, inch by inch, till he is firmly hilted. He waits patiently, letting Ben breathe and acclimate to the stretch and pressure. Holding Gabe’s eyes with his, he begins to thrust, plunging into Ben’s squeezing heat, withdrawing and plunging in again, raking the blunt head of his cock over his prostate in slow, tantalizing strokes.

“Your cock—you feel so good,” Ben moans breathlessly. “Ha…ah! harder!”

Jack hesitates.

“Harder,” Gabe says. “He can take it. Fuck him, Jack.”

This is all Jack needs. He leans down and hooks an arm around Ben’s neck, pulling him back up and holding him headlock style, displaying his muscular body for Gabe’s pleasure, flushed and dripping with sweat, and identical to his. Ben gives a broken, punched-out cry as Jack slams his cock into him, all way to the base. His knees would’ve buckled, but Jack is holding him pinned to his body, impaling him again and again, balls slapping against his ass with each savage thrust.

Gabe spits into his hand and strokes himself in earnest, matching Jack’s steady, machine-like pace. Ben grasps Jack’s arm with both hands and digs his fingernails into his skin. Jack can feel him clamping down and beginning to shake. He reaches around with his free hand to wring Ben’s cock as he pounds him.

“Come, baby,” he growls, keeping his eyes on Gabe. “Come for me.”

Ben shatters, throbbing and spurting in Jack’s hand, insides squeezing and constricting as he comes on his cock. Jack watches Gabe come at the same time, his big, gorgeous cock spewing white streaks up his chest and stomach, all over his black t-shirt. This pushes him over the edge. He gives a few more rapid, erratic thrusts and explodes, draining his tight, aching balls into Ben’s convulsing hole in a slippery flood.

He holds him against his chest, letting him ride out the spasms, then pulls out carefully and lowers him onto his stomach. Gabe peels off his bespattered t-shirt as he comes over to sit on the edge of the bed. Jack throws him arms around him and they kiss and embrace as if they haven’t seen each other in weeks, until Jack reluctantly pulls himself away to go get a towel.

Gabe eyes the other Jack, who is still lying naked and face down in their bed. “Hey, Ben. You ok?”

Ben rolls over stiffly and blinks up at him. “Your husband just fucked my brains out. Like, literally. I’m pretty sure I forgot math.”

“Well, hopefully you won’t need it,” Gabe laughs. “Looked like you enjoyed it, though.”

“Looked like you did, too,” Ben grins, sitting up to get out of bed.

Gabe lays a hand on his chest and gently pushes him back down. “Stay.”

Jack returns at that moment with a warm, damp towel. Ben holds out his hand to take it, but Jack shakes his head. It feels intensely strange to him, but he submits to being carefully cleaned up by Jack while Gabe looks on. When he’s finished, Jack takes the towel and disappears back down the hall. Ben lies there not knowing exactly what to do. He should certainly leave soon, but no one is telling him he can go. He glances at Gabe, who has stripped down to his black underwear and is sitting against the headboard, typing on his phone. Jack appears again and calls for the lights to dim, then slides under the covers and beckons to Ben.

“Oh, I better not,” Ben says awkwardly. “I might fall asleep.”

“That’s the idea,” Gabe says, without looking up from his phone.

“He told you to stay, didn’t he?” Jack smiles. “So stay.”

“Well, an order’s an order,” Ben laughs.

He climbs over and gets under the covers beside Jack, who wraps his arms around him and yawns deeply. After a very few minutes, it becomes apparent to him that Jack has fallen fast asleep. Gabe is still sitting up on Jack’s other side, tapping away at his phone.

“Gabe,” Ben whispers. “I don’t want to wake Jack up, but I need to use the restroom.”

“Oh, go ahead,” Gabe says, at his normal speaking volume. “He’s out. Nothing wakes him up when he’s like this.”

“Oh,” Ben says, looking down into Jack’s serenely unconscious face. “Uh…ok.”

He slides gingerly out of Jack’s embrace and pads to the bathroom, to relieve himself and use some mouthwash. When he returns, Jack hasn’t moved and Gabe is still buried in his phone. He gets back under the covers, and smiles to himself as Jack manages to twine himself around him again without waking up. When he has gotten situated, Gabe calls for the lights to shut off, but he doesn’t move to lie down. Ben drifts off to sleep in Jack’s arms, gazing at Gabe’s face in the pale glow from his phone, as he sits tapping at the screen in the dark.

 

 

 

 

“Naw, Genj, you’re thinkin’ of El Dorado, which don’t exist anyhow,” Jesse says to his friend. “Dorado is just a regular city with streets and buildings everything. They got these big-ass pyramids, but they’re like, power stations or somethin’.”

“They’re fusion generators,” Claudia explains. “They belong to LumériCo.”

“I have heard of LumériCo,” Genji says. “They wished to do business with my father. He did not think highly of their president, and declined their offer.”

“Well, without them, millions of people wouldn’t have electricity. They pretty much have a monopoly on power in Central America.”

“Will our mission there involve them in some way?” Genji asks.

“Naw, we’re goin’ to the Los Muertos hideout in Castillo. We got a safehouse with a landing pad in Dorado.”

“Genji, I need to show you how to operate your mask before we land,” Claudia says. “Let’s do that now, ok?”

“Very well, Claws,” Genji says agreeably.

He follows Claudia to the rear of the TAAV, and Jesse lies down in one of the bunk seats to nap until they approach their destination. A few hours later, Claudia wakes him up to let him know they’re almost there, and they strap into their seats for final descent.

The landing pad Jesse mentioned is a concrete parking lot behind a disused Gamesa factory on the outskirts of Dorado. The actual safehouse sits in a fortified bunker beneath the main building. Overwatch owns the factory and the surrounding grounds, and due to a top-secret deal with the Mexican government, it is allowed to remain “abandoned” and not be torn down so the land can be reabsorbed into the municipality.

Captain Ekwensi lands the TAAV on the weedy, cracked concrete, and Jesse and Genji hop out unload their stealth bikes. Claudia and Ekwensi descend through the hidden bunker entrance to switch on the power and check out the accommodations. They’ll be in town less than twenty-four hours, but the medical facility and security system (and bathrooms) are top priority.

They find the place clean and fully supplied, and everything in excellent working order. The kitchen has a stock of dry goods and emergency rations, and clean, running water is supplied by a dedicated well. Claudia sets about brewing a pot of coffee as Ekwensi runs the security system through its checks. Just as the coffee is finished brewing, Jesse and Genji come down to gear up for their ride to Castillo. Jesse goes into the restroom to change, but Genji needs no equipment aside from his mask, so he sits down to wait with Claudia. She hands him a mug of coffee and watches as he sips it cautiously, then grimaces and frowns suspiciously into the cup.

“Why are you making yuck face?” she laughs. “It’s pretty good coffee.”

“Ah, it is coffee,” he says, brightening again. “I was making yuck face because I thought that the tea had spoiled.”

“Yeah, this would be pretty awful if it was tea. There is actual tea here, though. I can make you some, if you want.”

“The coffee is very good, thank you.” He takes another sip and smiles cheerfully to demonstrate his enjoyment of the beverage.

Claudia smiles too, despite the fact that her heart breaks a little bit every time she looks at Genji. His handsome face is horribly scarred, and when he laughs or smiles, all she can think of is her sweet young friend, laughing with them on that last night before they left Hanamura, and how he has suffered since. His death must have been quick, judging from the state of his internal organs when they’d examined him at HQ, but the psychological pain would probably have been enough to destroy most people.

She also knows from personal experience that some of the procedures he underwent to integrate his cybernetics with what remained of his human body were extraordinarily painful. He never reacted to pain while he was in his semi-responsive state, but his brain activity showed that he experienced it. In order to maintain her sanity, she has to tell herself he wasn’t conscious of suffering through the nerve splicing. It is likely that he was unaware of it, but she can’t make herself ask him about it. She’d rather not know for sure.

Jesse comes back outfitted in his black combat gear and says it’s time to go. Genji attaches the mask himself, which covers his mouth and nose and contains his communicator, and has a forehead visor that adds a thermographic function to his vision, as well as enhanced neural feedback to heighten his senses in combat situations. Claudia checks that the connections are secure, gives her ok, and he and Jesse head off into the clear, balmy night.

They keep their bikes in blackout mode, using a 3-D terrain overlay to navigate the darkness of the rural highway between Dorado and Castillo. Jesse leads, since he’s been here before and knows the road fairly well, having an excellent memory for such things. The ride goes smoothly, and it takes them less than twenty minutes to reach their turnoff. They stow their bikes in the dense vegetation at the side of the road and engage the cloaking camo, then continue on foot into the little town.

This is the heart of Los Muertos territory, and they have to proceed with caution. Genji could use the rooftops to travel unseen with little difficulty, but Jesse doesn’t want to split up unless it’s absolutely necessary, so they pick their way along, keeping mostly to the shadows, and slipping quickly across narrow streets when there is no other option. At last, they come to a dilapidated, six-story apartment complex, which rises higher than the surrounding buildings, and offers a sniper’s viewpoint of their objective.

Genji leaps up silently and scales the side of the building like a spider. Jesse stands there blinking up at where he has gone, then sighs and begins his ascent up the fire escape. When he reaches the rooftop, Genji is sitting in a posture of meditation and managing to look smug, despite the lower half of his face being concealed by his mask.

“Yeah, yeah, you beat me, ya fuckin’ showoff,” Jesse grumbles, as they creep to the southeast corner of the roof. “That was cheatin’ anyhow. I only got the one robot arm.”

They crouch at their vantage point and gaze out over the Los Muertos hideout. The place is actually a sixteenth century monastery, which sits at the cliff’s edge overlooking the sea. The soaring bell tower and high white walls surrounding the building complex were constructed to resemble a fortress, and thus dominate the landscape with the Catholic presence, as was the style of the Augustinians. The town has since crowded up around the monastery, but the nearby buildings all sit lower than its austere walls, as if kneeling in holy reverence.

Jesse pulls out his recon binoculars and looks through the eyepieces. The courtyard is illuminated in the bright moonlight, but there are deep shadows beneath the white arches, which he can’t see into from this distance. He switches to night vision and looks again. There is no detectable movement. The place is mostly dark, and there are no lights on in any of the visible windows, either. He taps the zoom and scans the perimeter idly, knowing there won’t be much to see until the guard patrol passes.

As he is doing this, he gets that sudden, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that tells him something is amiss. There are no lights on _at all_. When he had been here previously, there had been lights on in the gatehouse and twinkling under some of the archways. He tips the lenses upward. The light on the bell tower is out, too.

“Hey, Genj,” he whispers. “You wanna try out that fancy thermal thing Claws stuck in your head?”

Genji touches something on his forehead visor and slowly scans the monastery with his red eyes. He touches it again, then looks at Jesse and shakes his head.

“Nothin’?” Jesse asks.

“No heat signatures are visible from here. Perhaps they have all gone to the far side of the complex.”

“I doubt it,” Jesse says. “There’s a whole mess of ‘em. Ain’t no way they’d all be crammed into a little space like that. Why would they want to, if they could?”

“I do not know,” Genji says. “How many are there?”

“The gang ain’t all livin’ here, but there’s about a hundred of ‘em that does,” Jesse says. He scans over the courtyard and buildings again, then stows his binoculars. “Ain’t no use from up here. We gotta get a closer look.”

“I will go down and survey the area,” Genji says. “I can move quickly without being seen.”

“Naw, you better not,” Jesse says. “The boss’ll string me up he finds out I sent you into the belly of the beast on your own. We’re goin’ together or we ain’t goin’ at all.”

“Then we will go together,” Genji says. “But allow me to at least check the outer perimeter while you climb down. That will be more efficient.”

“Well, alright,” Jesse says reluctantly. “Hang on, I gotta tell Claws what we’re up to first.”

Genji waits as Jesse reports their progress and their next move to Claudia. When Jesse gives him the go-ahead, he climbs onto the raised edge of the roof and drops directly off the side of the six-story building. Jesse shakes his head and makes his way back to the fire escape to begin the tedious descent, muttering to himself about goddamned cyborg stunts. Genji meets him at the bottom, looking very grave.

“I have been around the entire perimeter,” he says. “As far as I can tell, no one is there.”

“Fuck me,” Jesse says. “They ain’t picked up and moved out since I been here, neither. Our intel woulda heard about it.”

“There is something else,” Genji says. “The iron gate on the south side is damaged, and there are black marks, like burns on the wall.”

“I guess we ain’t got much choice then. We gotta go in.”

Genji nods. “I agree.”

Jesse taps his earpiece. “Hey, Claws. Place looks dead, but we got about a hundred missing gang members and signs of a struggle. We’re goin’ in to have a peek.”

“Copy, Jesse,” Claudia’s voice comes back. “Be careful.”

“You know me, darlin’,” Jesse says. “I’m always careful.”

 

 

 


	108. The Refiner's Fire

Ben opens his eyes groggily, awakened by Athena’s cheerful chime and smooth voice, informing the Strike-Commander that it is time to begin his day. He cranes his neck and peers blearily around. Gabe isn’t in bed. He is beginning to suspect he hadn’t slept at all. Next, he attempts to disentangle himself from Jack’s arms. The sleepy Strike-Commander huffs in protest and wraps him up tighter, keeping him firmly trapped where he is, back pressed against Jack’s chest, with Jack’s hard cock digging into one side of his ass.

“Come on, let me go,” Ben laughs. “We’re gonna be late for work.”

“I’m the boss,” Jack mumbles into the back of his neck. “Work is when I say it is.”

“Ok, but I’m not explaining to Beckett why all your meetings had to be moved back today.”

“You’d better not,” Jack says. “She’d quit and then you’d have to take her job permanently.”

“That’s why I won’t do it. But we still need to get up.”

“But I need to fuck you.”

“You _need_ to, Jack?”

“I don’t think you’re appreciating the gravity of the situation, Ben. I haven’t had my cock in you in like, eight hours. I could die.”

“It’s been six hours and no you couldn’t. Let me up, or I’ll yell for Gabe and he’ll make you.”

“Ugh, fine, but my death will be on your hands,” Jack says, loosening his grasp on his double. “I hope you can live with yourself.”

“I think we’ll both survive somehow.” Ben slides out of bed. Jack gazes up at him as he stretches languidly, then pads across the room. In the doorway, he turns and flashes Jack a sly grin. “I guess you can sleep in. I’m just gonna go and take a shower. All by myself.”

Ben laughs again, at the sudden alacrity with which Jack is out of bed. He manages to slip out the door and escape to the bathroom before he catches him, but not to shut the bathroom door before Jack gets inside. Jack grabs him and tries to kiss him, but Ben ducks away.

“We have to brush our teeth first. Don’t be gross.”

Jack pouts, but submits to being made to brush his teeth, handing Ben a packaged spare so he can do the same. Once they are clean and rinsed, Jack tries again.

“Nope, shower,” Ben says firmly.

Jack throws his hands up and heaves an exasperated sigh.

“You’re a nuisance in the morning, huh,” Ben laughs, as he starts the water. “No wonder Gabe gets up so early.”

“I’ll nuisance you, you little tease,” Jack grumbles.

“Oh, I’m not teasing.”

Ben steps into the shower, pulling Jack with him. Jack draws the curtain closed and pushes him against the white tile, devouring his mouth and caressing his body under the steaming water. Ben fumbles behind him till his hand lights on the bar of soap, which he uses to suds up Jack’s chest and back. His hands slip over Jack’s muscular body in the soap slick, moving gradually downward. He bathes Jack’s ass and pubic area very thoroughly, paying perhaps excessive attention to his very erect cock, till Jack takes the soap away and returns the favor. When he comes to the lower half of Ben’s body, he drops onto his knees.

“Oh, Jack, no,” Ben says hastily. “You don’t have to—”

“Shh,” Jack cuts him off. “I’m working.”

He laves the soap over Ben’s balls till he has a good bit of foam, then slides his slippery hand along his rigid shaft.

“Spread your legs a little,” he says. “I want to make sure I do a thorough job.”

Ben grins awkwardly and obeys. Jack continues to “wash” his dick, reaching between his legs with his other hand. Ben gives a little gasp as Jack’s soapy fingers slide up and down the cleft of his ass, grazing over his swollen, still-tender hole. Jack pushes him back into the spray to rinse off the soap, but he remains on his knees. He lifts Ben’s leg to rest his foot on he rim of the bath tub and begins circling and teasing his asshole with his fingers. Ben moans softly as one pushes inside, and then more loudly as Jack’s mouth closes over the head of his cock. He has to grip the wall for support as Jack deep-throats him without hesitation, taking him in to the base before he pulls back and sucks him in again.

“Oh, fuck,” Ben gasps. “You don’t—you don’t have a gag reflex.”

Jack withdraws and grins up at him, then swallows his cock till his nose is buried in Ben’s blonde pubic hair. He doesn’t pull back this time. He just holds him in that squeezing heat while his finger gently prods Ben’s prostate. Ben’s chest heaves with tortured breaths. Between the aching pressure of Jack’s mouth and the hot water beating on his skin and the tense weight in his balls as he’s deliberately milked—his brain feels like it’s swelling in his skull. How long is Jack going to torment him like this? Just then, a gust of cold air hits him, as the bathroom door opens.

“You two horsing around in there?” Gabe’s voice says.

Ben looks down at Jack, who doesn’t react at all.

“Uh, no,” he calls out, in a much more strained voice than he’d have liked. “Your—ha! Fuck! Your husband is just trying to kill me.”

The curtain draws aside and Gabe’s face appears. He surveys the situation with a sardonic smirk.

“Jack, let him come,” he says to his kneeling husband. “You two are going to be late for work.”

Jack ignores him and continues to do exactly what he’s doing, holding Ben’s dick in his mouth and milking it with slow, tantalizing swallows while Ben loses his mind. Ben nearly topples over as he moves his tongue along the length of his cock, simultaneously pressing his finger into his prostate.

“F—fuck!” he sputters through the hot water. “How the—fuck long can he hold his breath!”

“Just grab him by his hair and fuck his mouth,” Gabe says. “Trust me.”

Ben flushes crimson, but he does as he’s told. He takes a fistful of the Strike-Commander’s blonde hair and thrusts tentatively. Jack moans on his cock, sending electrifying vibrations up the shaft into his balls. Ben thrusts again, and Jack reaches down and begins to stroke himself.

Gabe grins. “See?”

Ben is too drunk with need to be shy or embarrassed anymore. He takes Jack’s wet hair in his other fist and fucks his mouth in earnest, pounding his cock into the back of his throat. Jack wrings his own cock feverishly, choking out little moans whenever his airway isn’t blocked. Suddenly, he tenses up all over and his throat clamps down on Ben. He comes, shaking and jerking as his dick spurts into the streaming water at their feet. The abrupt increase in pressure and intensity yank Ben over the edge with him. He pushes Jack’s head all the way down on his cock and holds him there as he pumps his throbbing ejaculation down his throat. His knees buckle, but Jack has him already, steadying him against the wall and laughing huskily.

“Oh, hey,” he rasps, turning to his husband. “Good morning, Gabe.”

“Good morning, indeed,” Gabe says. “Your voice is wrecked, baby. You sound like you just sucked a guy off in the shower.”

“Who, me?” Jack asks, looking as innocent as he can.

“Yes, you, you little demon. Hurry and finish up so you can have some breakfast before you go.”

“What about you?” Jack asks.

“I ate earlier,” Gabe replies, perhaps a tad naïvely.

“Oh, I’m sure you did. But I’m still hungry.”

Gabe catches the predatory glint in Jack’s ice-blue eyes and backs away. “Oh, no you don’t. You’re already late.”

“Hm…no,” Jack says, stepping out of shower. “I think I do.”

Gabe backs up into the counter as Jack presses his body against him, still hot and dripping wet from the shower. “Jack, you’re soaking the floor, you madman. Cut—ah! Cut it out.”

“Ben, go ahead and get dried off,” Jack says, keeping his eyes on Gabe. “I’ve got to take care of something.”

Ben shuts off the water and grabs a towel, but he remains standing in the bathtub, watching them grope and tease each other.

“Such a slut,” Gabe grins at Jack, flashing his white teeth. “You haven’t had enough yet?”

“Never,” Jack purrs in his ear. “I want you. Fuck me right now.”

Gabe snarls and grabs Jack by the shoulders, quickly flipping their positions to bend him over the counter. Jack presses his forehead against the mirror, arching and whining as Gabe spreads his ass and pushes his fingers roughly inside. Ben stands there patting his towel mechanically over his wet skin, staring at the two men in front of him, who appear to have forgotten him entirely. They could see him behind them in the reflection, if either of them were looking, but they are decidedly not. Ben thinks he could probably jump up and down and yell, and get no response.

“More,” Jack pants. “More, give it to me.”

Gabe keeps working his asshole as he reaches down and undoes his fly. Ben watches in breathless suspense as he takes that thick, heavy, dusky-brown cock in his hand and slides it up and down in the cleft of Jack’s ass. They can’t possibly be about to fuck raw without prep, can they? Ben blinks, then looks again. Gabe’s cock is slick somehow. He can see the taut, veiny skin glistening from here. But he hadn’t seen him get any lube out. Maybe he had some in a pocket or something? He decides it doesn’t particularly matter.

Jack’s eyes roll shut and his mouth drops open and hangs slack. Gabe is penetrating him already. Slowly, steadily impaling him on that formidable shaft. Ben watches Jack’s ruddy cock in the mirror, grinding on the edge of the white countertop. He takes his own rapidly thickening cock in his hand and strokes it. Gabe is in to the hilt now. He stands still, gazing down at Jack as he writhes under him.

Jack moans and bucks back. “Fuck…Gabe! Fuck me!”

Gabe laughs, deep and low in his throat. “So demanding.”

“Please! Please…ngh…fuck!”

Gabe pulls back and slams his hips forward. Ben stares transfixed, watching Gabe pound into Jack like a piston, fucking strangled sounds out of his open mouth. Suddenly, Gabe’s fierce, brown-black eyes lock onto his in the mirror.

“Look, Jackie,” Gabe says, yanking Jack’s head up by his hair. “Ben likes to watch, too.”

Jack’s blue eyes flutter open and find Ben’s. He begins to say something, but whatever it is turns into a strangled moan as his husband rams forward with another powerful thrust. Ben leans against the shower wall for support and pumps himself faster and harder as Gabe picks up momentum. Jack’s face and chest are flushed pink and he’s beginning to shake.

“I—I’m so close,” he stammers. “Fuck…fuck!”

“Come, Jack,” Gabe says hoarsely. “Come for me, baby.”

Jack throws his head back and all his muscles tense up. Ben watches his cock spasm, spurting thick, white streaks over the countertop. He wrings himself furiously, reaching his peak and spewing onto the shower tiles, just as Gabe gives a last, savage thrust and comes inside Jack.

“Now I need another shower,” Jack mumbles, lolling drunkenly against the mirror. “I’m full of your come.”

“Yeah, and you hate it,” Gabe laughs, as he pulls out carefully. “Ben, you can go and get dressed. I’ll take care of him.”

Ben takes his towel and departs to let the other two men shower. Back in the bedroom, it suddenly occurs to him that he doesn’t have a clean uniform here. Fuck. He’ll have put on his dirty one and go to his room to change. He looks around for it, however, and finds it neatly pressed and hanging on a hook by the closet. He frowns. Gabe didn’t…no. That’s insane. There’s no way the Blackwatch Commander pressed and hung up his work clothes while Ben was curled up asleep with his husband in their bed. The idea is too absurd to comprehend, so he moves past it and starts getting dressed. He is buttoning the fly of his pants, when Gabe and Jack come in wearing towels, laughing and jostling each other.

“Oh, good,” Gabe says. “You found the clothes I left you.”

“I did, thank you,” Ben says, trying not to stare as Gabe casually drops his towel. “But, you didn’t…press this for me, did you?”

“Fuck no,” Gabe laughs, as he pulls on a pair of tight, black briefs. “That’s just one of Jack’s uniforms. All I did was take the insignia off and stick yours on.”

Ben smiles self-consciously, blushing to the ears. “Oh, right. I didn’t think about it.”

“Jack, get the fuck up and get dressed,” Gabe says to his husband, who has tossed away his towel and is sprawled out naked on the bed.

“No,” Jack says petulantly. “I’m too fucked out and happy for work. I’m calling in sick.”

“Calling in sick? You haven’t taken a sick day in a decade, mi sol.”

“Then they owe me a few, don’t they,” Jack grins, raising his head. “Ben, support me, here. What am I paying you for?”

“He’s right, Gabe,” Ben says dutifully. “He is the one paying me.”

“Fucking traitor,” Gabe grumbles. “I’m actually your boss, you know. Jack, you can’t call in sick. It’ll be all over the news. People will think you’re dying. There will be vigils.”

“And it’ll make a lot of extra work for Beckett,” Ben adds.

“Who’s the traitor, now!” Jack exclaims, pointing an accusing finger at Ben.

“Ben’s only a traitor when he’s not taking my side,” Gabe says. “And he’s right. It will make a lot of work for Beckett.”

“But, Gabe…” Jack says, sitting up and making his bright-blue eyes as big and round as he can.

“No,” Gabe says firmly.

Jack gets out of bed and sidles up to him, winding him arms around his neck. He presses his mouth to Gabe’s ear and whispers something. Ben can’t hear what it is, but Gabe’s usual ironic smirk immediately softens. He strokes Jack’s cheek and gazes down at him with such a tender, intimate expression, that Ben suddenly feels like he’s intruding and turns away.

“Ok, Jack,” he hears Gabe say softly. “Have your day off. If Beckett can’t dream up something to tell the press, then what are you paying _her_ for.”

He cradles Jack’s face in his hands and kisses him on the lips and forehead as Jack smiles up at him. Reluctantly, he breaks the embrace and goes to the closet to finish dressing.

Ben wonders if two people have ever been this in love before. It almost makes him want to cry. Not because no one has ever loved him that way, but because no one loves anyone that way. Not the way these two love each other, with this profound and steadfast devotion that has survived war and separation and years of trial and hardship. A phrase he heard somewhere long ago echoes in his mind. _The refiner’s fire._

Jack’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts. “Ben?”

“Hm? Sorry, what did you say?”

“I asked what you want to do today,” Jack says, as he rummages in a drawer. He takes out a pair of blue boxer-briefs and pulls them on.

“Oh, I’m ok with whatever,” Ben says. “You guys decide.”

“I’m not staying,” Gabe says. “I have shit to do at work. I can’t just lay around eating ice cream in my underwear, which is what Jack will do if you let him, so you’d better figure something out.”

“I don’t know,” Ben shrugs. “That actually sounds pretty good to me.”

Gabe raises an eyebrow. “The two of you are way too much alike. You’re going to be bad influences on each other, I can already tell.”

“Well, it’s your own doing, Gabe,” Jack says, “You should’ve thought of that before you brought me another Jack to indoctrinate into my ways.”

“You really should have, Gabe,” Ben chirps, spreading his arms as Jack helps him out of his uniform top.

“Jesus Christ, you’re both out of control,” Gabe sighs. “I’m leaving before you start giving each other mani-pedis and gossiping about boys. Breakfast is on the stove. I’ll see you later.”

“Ok, later!” Jack calls after him, as he heads out the door. “Love you!”

Ben removes the rest of the uniform and Jack goes to hang it in the closet. When he comes back, he has a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“Ben, you know what we’re going to do?” he says, practically beaming. “We’re going to get back in bed and sleep till nine.”

“Holy shit, Jack, nine?” Ben replies deadpan. “We might get arrested.”

“Shut up and get in my bed,” Jack says, pushing Ben backward into the heap of luxurious linens. “Athena, let Beckett know I’m taking a personal day. And give me a wake-up call at 0900, ok?”

“Very well, Commander,” the ever-present AI chimes smoothly.

Ben laughs as Jack makes an exaggerated show of snuggling up to him and nestling his head into his chest, then he lies there gazing dreamily at the ceiling and stroking Jack’s hair. Despite his proclaimed desire to sleep in, however, Jack keeps fidgeting and shifting position.

“Why are you wiggling around so much?” Ben asks. “You have fleas or something?”

“Your chest hairs are tickling my face,” Jack says, rubbing his nose. “And this bed is all…lumpy.”

“Jack, are you too excited about your day off to sleep?”

There is a long pause. “You don’t know me.”

“I know you’re kicking me,” Ben says, swatting Jack’s leg.

“No hitting!” Jack rejoins. “I’m the boss. I’ll kick you all I want.”

“Oh yeah?” Ben laughs.

He rolls Jack onto his back and pins his arms and legs. Jack makes a token struggle as Ben kisses him, then reverses the pin with startling ease. Ben has already worked out that Jack is much stronger than he is, but he’s always a little taken by surprise when he actually feels it. He wonders how different their enhancements are. He knows his body is capable of immense strength and speed, so what must Jack’s be capable of? The thought is almost frightening.

“No more sex,” he says firmly. “We both need to eat. Let’s go find out what obscenely wonderful thing Gabe left for breakfast and figure out what to do with our vacation time.”

After a little more playful wrestling, Jack is finally enticed out of bed into the kitchen, where Ben finds a cast iron pan containing some kind of dish consisting of scrambled eggs, potatoes, peppers, onions, and a topping of melted cheese. He replaces the lid and warms it up while Jack brews coffee, then they get the table set and sit down to eat in their underwear.

“This is so fucking delicious,” Ben says with his mouth full. “Gabe is some kind of food genius, I swear.”

“He really is,” Jack grins. “I’m pretty much happy with anything, but he’s always been really particular about his cooking and what he eats. I think it’s the difference in the way we grew up.”

“How’d you guys grow up?”

“I was raised middle class and white in Iowa. The height of cuisine there was the rare trip to the local steakhouse, like, after church on Easter. At home, my mom always cooked for me, so I never bothered to learn. Gabe had parents who actually taught him to appreciate good food. I mean, he had to learn to cook on his own, but they instilled the passion for it in him very young.”

“Why did he have to learn on his own?” Ben asks.

“His parents died when he was twelve. He was pretty much raised by domestic staff and his family’s lawyers.”

“Jesus, that’s awful. I had no idea he was orphaned.”

Jack shrugs. “He doesn’t really talk about himself to anyone but me. And I guess Claudia, who is like, his best friend now.”

“So Gabe and the infamous Claws are besties,” Ben laughs. “Why does that not surprise me?”

“I guess because you’re a good judge of character. Claudia is smart, resourceful, tenacious, and has a good heart. Plus, Gabe responds well to strong women. He tends to be more comfortable with them than with other men. He was really close with—” he breaks off suddenly and pauses, looking away and drawing a long breath before he continues. “He was really close with my sister.”

“It must’ve been hard on him, too. When you lost them.”

“It must have been,” Jack says, his face devoid of any expression. “I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Ben says. “I shouldn’t have pressed you like that. We can talk about something else.”

“No, it’s not your fault. Any conversation about my personal life is going to be a minefield. That’s probably why I don’t have many friends. Well…that and the fact that I’m wired the way I am, and I can’t relate properly to other humans. And the fact that I don’t have time to make friends anyway.”

“But you do have friends. What about Lydia? She’s crazy about you. And that woman…what’s her name…the gorgeous little Egyptian lady with the daughter…Captain Amari.”

Jack smiles. “Yeah, Lydia and Ana are my friends, you’re right. And you’re my friend now.”

“Are we friends, Jack?” Ben says, frowning thoughtfully. “I’d like to think we are, but I work for you and I know that’s a weird grey area.”

“Well, you’ve slept in my bed and been naked with me and my husband twice. I think we’ve pole-vaulted over the line of professional acquaintances at this point.”

“Speaking of that, can I ask you something that might be uncomfortable?”

“Sure.”

“Does it bother Gabe that I was with Jesse? Usually when I’ve been with couples, it’s kind of a free-for-all, but I noticed that he didn’t touch me or anything.”

“I don’t think bothers is the right word. But Jesse is Gabe’s son, so you must understand why he might not want to, uh…”

“He doesn’t want to have sex with me because Jesse and I used to have sex.” Ben smiles. “It’s ok Jack, you can say those things out loud. I’m not exactly shy about sex stuff. I do understand why it would be weird for him, but I just wondered, since he didn’t seem to have a problem being naked around me and watching you and I fuck.”

“I don’t know how Gabe is setting his mental boundaries here. He seems pretty comfortable with you in a sexual context. If I had to guess, I’d say that the idea doesn’t actually bother him at all, but he’s trying to be considerate of Jesse’s feelings. It’d probably be different if he’d raised him from childhood, but he’s only known Jesse as an adult.”

“What about you? I mean, I know you and Jesse aren’t related, but you’re married to his dad.”

Jack considers this for a moment as he sips his coffee.

“Ok, here’s my thought process,” he says. “I know that the ‘normal’ response would be that even though Jesse and I aren’t related that closely, our connection through Gabe should prevent anything sexual happening between you and I. That doesn’t track logically for me. To come to that conclusion, I would have to start from the assumption that you are an object being acted upon, rather than a participant with agency. That’s wrongheaded and gross.”

Ben laughs aloud. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone apply the word ‘gross’ to a philosophical examination of personhood.”

Jack’s cheeks color and he smiles self-consciously. “I’m weird, I know.”

“No, I like how you talk,” Ben says, patting his arm reassuringly. “It’s very unique, and it’s refreshing that you use the word you want instead of letting your meaning get buried in pat phrases.”

“Well, thank you,” Jack grins.

“So, since we were talking about Jesse, he called you guys his dads, but it seemed to surprise you. Is that new? Him thinking of you that way?”

“Yeah, see, this is where I get into trouble relating to other humans,” Jack says, leaning back in his chair. “I have an emotional response to that and an analytical response. The two are incongruent, so I haven’t decided how I feel about it yet.”

“What are they?”

“Well, my emotional response is that yes, Jesse is accepting me and forming more of a familial attachment to me. My analytical response is that he is trying to train himself to recategorize me by using that language.”

“Oh. So…oh.” Ben looks away. “He has feelings for you that are not exactly of a parent-child nature.”

“Shit. I’m sorry, Ben. I assumed you knew.”

“No, I’m not surprised to hear it. He never said anything directly, but I thought it might have been something like that. The way he talked _around_ you sent up a few flags. I actually assumed _you_ didn’t know.”

“I know he had feelings for me. I don’t know if they were romantic or purely sexual, but we couldn’t have had a relationship, so it doesn’t make much of a difference.”

“How did you find out? Did he tell you?”

“We kissed once, before we knew he was Gabe’s son. I was trying to befriend him and we went out for drinks. He actually took me to a strip show at the Rawhide Saloon. Then we came back here and we were talking, and then he just kissed me.”

“Wow. That’s a pretty ballsy move, even for Jesse.”

Jack shrugs. “I kissed him back, so the risk paid off. I would have had sex with him, too, but luckily for all of us, Jesse is a lot smarter than he likes to pretend.”

“Gabe was ok with that?”

“Fuck no, he was furious,” Jack laughs. “But it turned out to be for the best. Our relationship was in a difficult place at that point and Jesse actually helped me realize how much I love Gabe.”

“Jesse is pretty amazing,” Ben says, with a wistful smile. “He sees everything and he’s always thinking. He could probably unravel the secrets of the universe if he set his mind to it.”

“He’s a lot like his dad. Gabe hides behind that gruff, impatient military-man persona, but he’s incredibly alert to nuances that pass me by entirely. Especially where people are concerned. He understands people really well.”

“You seem to understand people pretty well to me. You have the entire world eating out of the palm of your hand every time you do a press conference.”

“I understand people as a group. It’s individuals that are hard for me. Manipulating the perceptions and emotions of an entire population is relatively simple, compared to forming and maintaining a meaningful connection with an individual. A person is a far more complex and volatile amalgamation of motives and interests than a population, which is a collection of very basic motives and interests that are much slower to change and much more vulnerable to outside influence, since they are inherently tied to the community as a whole and not just…” Jack trails off, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I’ll do that if you don’t stop me.”

“Stop you?” Ben says incredulously. “I love hearing you talk like this. I’ve never met anyone like you, Jack. You’re so different from how you seem on TV, and even from how you are at work.”

“Yeah, it’s a defense mechanism I’ve been refining for decades. Not to toot my own horn, but I’m really good at pretending to be normal.”

“I like you weird. Normal is boring. All it means is not significantly deviated from the mean.”

“I think I’m pretty significantly deviated from the mean,” Jack laughs. “It used to bother me, when I was young and stupid, but it doesn’t now. I know I’m different, and I’m ok with it.”

“But if you’re ok with who you are, why the defense mechanism? You shouldn’t have to put on a façade for other people.”

“That would be true if I were a private citizen, but the fact is, I’m not. In my position, what people think of me is a literal matter of war and peace. The Strike-Commander is a uniform, just as much as the Overwatch blues. It’s something reassuring and official. A symbol that signifies to the public that things are under control and someone is looking out for them. In closer-up interactions, ‘normal’ is something I put on to make other people comfortable. It’s a courtesy so that they don’t have to spend all of what will almost certainly be our brief interface bending over backwards trying to accommodate me. I don’t resent people for not instantly being capable of handling the full, unvarnished reality of me. That would be selfish and childish. If the few people who really know me accept me for who I am, that’s all I need.”

“Wow. I never thought of it from that perspective. I guess I assumed you meant those defense mechanisms were self-protective, and they were something you were forced into.”

“Well, they’re not optional if I want to do this job, but the job is. I don’t have to be the Strike-Commander. I could resign and walk away any time. But I don’t want to. What I’m doing is genuinely making the world a better and safer place for millions of innocent people. What kind of man would I be if having to put on a show and glad-hand politicians and make inspiring speeches for civilians was too high a price to pay for the security and freedom of the world? What kind of man would I be if I was willing to trade the safety of so many people for more personal freedom for myself?”

“You wouldn’t be you,” Ben says. “That’s what makes you a hero, Jack. It’s self-sacrifice. No, let me say this. No matter how much you want to dismiss that and act like it’s just your duty, the plain truth is that there are not many people who would be capable of doing what you do, even if they’d be willing. Which they wouldn’t.”

Jack shakes his head, but he doesn’t attempt any other denial. Whether this is capitulation, or he simply doesn’t want to argue about it, Ben isn’t certain, but it seems to have had some effect on him. He sits gazing into his coffee mug for a long time.

“I know there’s truth in what you’re saying,” he says at last. “I’m not delusional. I know I am highly exceptional. I’m uncomfortable attributing that to any inherent merit in myself because I was made exceptional by the people around me. But I know all of my flaws. I know all of my doubts and uncertainties about the decisions I’ve made. I know how—how much I hurt Gabe.”

“You both keep doing that,” Ben says. “You keep talking around something. I’m not asking you to tell me, but it’s hard to understand all of this emotional complexity if I’m missing a huge piece of the puzzle.”

“Ben, I want to trust you with this, but…”

“It’s ok, Jack. I really do understand. The last thing I want to do is overstep and make you uncomfortable.”

“No, that’s not it. I mean I want to trust you. And I need to know it’s not because of…all this.” Jack gestures to Ben’s face and his own. “Would you do something for me?”

“Yeah, of course,” Ben says. “What is it?”

“Would you…wear your real face for me?”

Ben blinks, then smiles. “Sure. The holomask is in my uniform collar. Any idea what Gabe did with it?”

“Laundry hamper in our room.”

“Ok, be right back.”

While Ben is gone, Jack clears up the breakfast things, then sends a text to Beckett, to see how everything is going. He looks up as Ben returns in his underwear and a tight-fitting white undershirt.

Ben smiles self-consciously. “Well, here I am. Oh, I hope you don’t mind, I borrowed a shirt. The holomask has to clip to something.”

Jack stands there staring blankly at him.

“I mean, it’s just an undershirt,” he mumbles, tugging fretfully at the hem of the shirt. “You have like, fifty of them.”

Jack swallows hard. “Ben, you’re…Christ, you’re fucking beautiful.”

Ben looks up, frowning. “What are you talking about?”

“Your real face,” Jack says. “I got so used to you looking like me or Lieutenant Hunter, I forgot how beautiful you are.”

He sets his phone down and crosses to Ben, gazing raptly into his face until Ben blushes and turns away. Jack laughs delightedly.

“Holy shit, Claudia really did amazing work with this mask. I can see you blushing.” Ben looks up at him again, and Jack’s expression changes from delighted to alarmed. “Oh—oh no. Did I say something wrong?”

“No, it’s just…god, sorry. This is so embarrassing,” Ben says, dashing away a tear. He takes a deep breath. “I just don’t understand why you’re saying that.”

“Because it’s true,” Jack says earnestly. “You’re beautiful, Ben.”

“I’m not ugly,” Ben shrugs, trying to sound nonchalant, but failing to keep the tremor out of his voice. “I’m know I’m nothing compared to you, though. Literally everything I have is because I _almost_ looked like you. Even my old job at the Rawhide. Karl hired me because he was getting a huge number of requests for Strike-Commander fantasies.”

Jack’s eyes go wide. “Wait, what? Strike-Commander fant—that’s not important right now. Ben, you’re not seeing this correctly. Yesterday, you said they had to turn you into a superhuman to make you as hot as me, but that’s not true. You’re not inferior to me, you’re just different.”

“Look, I’m not stupid,” Ben says. “I know when they were working on me and they talked about all my imperfections, they were talking about the fidelity of the copy. Being constantly compared to you and also told I’m not quite you has been kind of a mindfuck, sure, but it’s not the real issue. My entire self-concept has been based on my looks since I was a teenager. I was a model. And I was failing at it, so I became a whore. Then that pig beat me half to death, and I didn’t even have that anymore. I wanted to get rid of this face and hide behind yours because I hate it. I hate my face. I hate…myself.”

“No, Ben, no,” Jack says, throwing his arms around the younger man. “Please don’t hate yourself. You are kind and intelligent and funny and thoughtful, and so many other things. You are beautiful, inside and out.” He pulls back to look into Ben’s face and lays a hand on his cheek. “You, Ben, the person. _You_ are beautiful.”

Ben laughs, despite the tears rolling down his face. “Hey, that’s cheating. You can’t turn my words around on me like that.”

“Um, I can and I did,” Jack retorts. “You’re not the only one who gets to play therapist here. We’re friends. Friends do this. I think. Do friends do this?”

“Yeah,” Ben says, smiling softly. “Friends do this.”

“Do they do…this?” Jack leans in and presses a kiss to his lips.

“Mmm, they can,” Ben says, pulling him in for another.

Jack picks him up and carries him to the bedroom, where they lie down facing each other, kissing and caressing each other’s faces and bodies.

“I want to tell you that thing I mentioned before,” Jack says, drawing away at last. “But I’m trusting you with this, so you can’t talk to anyone about it, not even Gabe, ok?”

“I won’t,” Ben says. “Your secrets are safe with me, Jack.”

Jack takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “When I found out about my family, my unit was in Detroit. This was way before the Omnium activated. We were there dealing with the Omnic assault squads that were harassing the city. Troopers, Eradicators, Spider drones, that kind of thing. The Army sent a messenger in person. They only do that when they are informing you of the death of a family member. At first, I thought they were going to tell me Gabe was dead. But it wasn’t him.

While we’d been fighting in Detroit, Iowa had been hit and my family were among the confirmed casualties. I don’t remember what I said. I remember someone asking me if I was ok, then the next few days are a blank. They tell me I went out and took command of the unit again, but the next memory I have is being in the thick of battle, killing everything in sight. I blasted my way through the lines and tore apart every Omnic I could find.

When I looked up, I found that I’d gotten way ahead of my unit, and I was alone. I was covered in soot and grease from servomotors exploding on me, and blood. I must’ve been shot ten times, but I didn’t feel any pain or fear. I was a wild animal. A predator in a frenzy. I couldn’t stop. One of the Detonators went off near me and threw me down, and blew a hole in the side of a shopping mall.

I clawed my way out of the rubble and then I saw them. Twenty or so humanoid, non-hostile Omnics, huddled together, taking shelter behind the benches and kiosks. They didn’t see me. I launched a volley of rockets through the smoke and dust right into the middle of the group. There were more. Some of them started to panic and try to get away. I shot them down as they ran. Then I went store by store, and destroyed every single Omnic hiding in the mall. One hundred and fifty-two.

I don’t remember anything after the first few, so I don’t know how many hours passed, but eventually, Angela found me. She says I was sitting outside smoking a cigarette, and I was out of my mind. When we got back to camp, I started to come back to myself. After she patched me up, I was lucid, and she was able to make me understand what I’d done.

It was a war crime. The Colonel, our old boss, was already on his way. They were covering it up for me. Making it look like those Omnics were killed in the battle by the hostiles. She begged me to let her contact Gabe. For security reasons, only I had access to the encrypted frequency to communicate with his unit, and I refused. She said she’d just have the Colonel contact him when he arrived, then.

I said I understood and that I’d be fine till then, but she wouldn’t let me out of her sight. She slept in my room with me, went to the command center with me, would barely let me piss on my own. Finally, she got called away for an emergency surgery. I walked into my room, shut and locked the door, and put my sidearm in my mouth. I prayed that god would help Gabe forgive me, and then I pulled the trigger.

I died. Everything went black and still and calm, and death carried me into the abyss. Then there was this light. These flashes of gold light and I was in pain again. My brain was being torn apart from the inside and I was screaming, fighting, begging whatever it was to let me go and let me die. In the end, Jack won. He wouldn’t come back, so the soldier did.

When I came to in the hospital, I didn’t remember anything but the soldier. My family had been erased. My husband had been erased. I was Major Jack Morrison, a farmer’s son from Indiana, who had joined the Army at eighteen. Gabe was my Army buddy and best friend. We’d met when we’d joined a special program called the SEP, and now we were fighting to save humanity. I spent ten years believing Gabe was my best friend, and slowly falling in love with him all over again.

After that thing happened between Jesse and I, I finally admitted that I loved him. Jesse made me promise to tell him, and I did. And he loved me back. Finally, something felt right and good and real. It was Gabe. It was always Gabe. He was my home. He was the one thing that could calm the storm.

We had exchanged our wedding rings when we left each other to lead our units, and he had been carrying mine around with him. Wearing it on a chain around his neck. Dumbass that he is, he dropped it in my room and I found it. I read the inscription and my mind literally fractured. I don’t know how else to explain it. Everything fell apart into fragments. I couldn’t tell what was now and what was the past, or even what was real or not.

Angela called it a psychotic break. I was in and out of consciousness for a few days. Sedated, because I was in unbearable agony. Gabe came and they woke me up for a while to talk to him. Then I went under again. Then he brought Master Zenyatta, and he helped me come out of it and be lucid without the pain. Bit by bit, over the past few years, I’ve been recovering my memory. I don’t have it all back, but I think I have most of it. I only know something has been missing after it comes back, though, so I can’t be sure. So…that’s all of me. Thank you for listening.”

Jack watches Ben, who is lying there, gazing past him into the middle distance, blinking and moving his eyes as if he is processing a large influx of data.

“Fuck,” he says at last. “I just…fuck. I understand so many things that didn’t totally add up before. But…”

“But what?”

“Well, it also raises a ton of questions.”

“Like what? I’ll answer anything I can.”

“Well, if you and Gabe were married before the Crisis, you’ve been together a long time. A lot longer than I thought, right?”

“Yeah,” Jack laughs. “Probably longer than you still think.”

“Longer than I still think?” Ben says, not understanding the joke. “What do you mean?”

Jack leans over and opens the nightstand drawer, from which he pulls a little black box. He opens the box and hands Ben a heavy, platinum band, smooth and unornamented.

“That’s my wedding ring. The date is engraved inside.”

Ben holds up the ring and reads the tiny script etched inside the band. Then he sits bolt upright and holds it closer, reading it over again.

“Twenty fucking seventeen?” he exclaims, in breathless disbelief. His eyes dart between Jack’s face and the ring. “Twenty fucking seventeen, Jack, how the fuck old are you?”

Jack grins. “Officially? Forty-two.”

“I—you…you and Gabe were married before I was born. Like, for over decade. Before I was _born_. I knew you were older, but…Jesus.”

“What’s the matter, you don’t like crotchety old men?”

“Ha. Funny. You’re funny,” Ben says weakly, passing his hand over his brow. He hands the ring back to Jack, who slides it onto his finger, then sits there shaking his head. “How? How is this possible? I know you’re a super soldier, but you don’t look more than thirty, thirty-five tops. You can’t fucking be in your sixties.”

“I am, though,” Jack shrugs. “It’s just how our treatment worked. Yours won’t be quite as extreme, but you won’t age normally either. I’m sure they told you.”

“They did, but just…holy fuck.”

“I can’t believe it’s this you’re shocked about, and not the war crime or the suicide attempt.”

“You already told me about the suicide thing, and the other thing…I don’t know. It’s bad and all, but I understand it. You were out of your mind with grief and you instinctively destroyed the things that had destroyed your family. Anyone in your position might have done the same. Maybe even worse.”

“Maybe,” Jack says musingly, turning the platinum band on his finger.

Ben smiles. “So, what about Gabe’s ring? Did you wear it on a necklace like big romantic sap, too?”

“No, I…I didn’t,” Jack says, his handsome features tightening with pain. “That’s one of the things I don’t have back yet. I can’t remember what I did with his ring. I’ve wracked my brain, but I just can’t. He keeps telling me to let it go, and that having me back is what’s important, but it just kills me.”

“I’m so sorry, Jack,” Ben says. “That’s tragic to lose that, on top of everything else you’ve been through.”

“We still have the one, at least. That’s better than losing both. But I’m holding out hope that I’ll remember one day.” Jack sighs and gazes at the ceiling for a long moment, then he looks up at Ben and smiles. “Thank you for this, Ben. I’ve never told that story out loud to anyone. It means a lot to me to be open with someone this way.”

“Thank you for trusting me with it. I know it can’t have been easy to talk about it.”

“It’s easy to talk to you,” Jack says, reaching up to stroke his cheek again.

Ben takes his hand and presses his lips to it, then Jack pulls him down into a soft, searching kiss. He rolls Ben onto his back and and pushes up his t-shirt, kissing and caressing his chest and stomach, then peels off his underwear. He stands to remove his own and get a bottle of lube from the nightstand.

“Leave your shirt on,” he says. “I want to see your real face while I fuck you.”

Ben nods and spreads his legs for Jack to kneel between them. Jack slicks his cock with the lube, then hooks one of Ben’s legs over his shoulder. Ben wraps the other one around his waist, pulling him in as Jack sinks slowly into him, pressing through the tight resistance, till his cock is firmly seated inside him. Jack takes Ben’s other leg and hooks it over his shoulder too, bending over him, so they are nearly chest to chest.

They gaze steadily into each other’s eyes as Jack begins to thrust. Ben’s heart pounds and his stomach flutters, like he’s a schoolgirl with a crush. He hasn’t felt like this in such a long time, he’d almost forgotten what it was like. Jack is looking into his eyes, tenderly kissing and caressing him as his cock moves, deep inside him. He feels the connection keenly, in every inch of his body. They are even breathing in unison.

He is so caught up in it, that he is barely aware of Jack’s hand reaching down to grasp his cock. He doesn’t stroke it, he just holds it firmly as he rocks into him. Ben’s muscles tense and begin to shake. He comes suddenly, his body racking with deep spasms as his insides constrict on Jack’s long, thick shaft, and his own cock throbs in Jack’s hand, spurting all over their stomachs between them.

He realizes with intense embarrassment that there are tears rolling down his cheeks again, but Jack kisses them away and keeps fucking him into an oblivion of profound, mingled pleasure and pain that makes his head whirl and spin. He feels Jack’s cock swell, suddenly growing hot and rigid inside him, then he lunges forward and covers Ben’s mouth with his, groaning into it as his cock convulses, pumping his throbbing hole full of warm, slippery fluid.

They remain pressed close together, face to face, as they ride out the spasms. Jack kisses him again before he pulls out, then he takes him in his arms and Ben lays his head on his chest. Jack traces lazy circles on Ben’s back with his fingertips as they lie tangled up together, dozing and basking in the warm haze of post-climax euphoria.

After a long while, Jack breaks the silence. “So…tell me about these Strike-Commander fantasies.”

Ben laughs. “It’s pretty much exactly what it sounds like.”

“Did you wear a costume?”

“If the client brought me one.”

“Did they actually do that?” Jack asks incredulously.

“Yep. Some pretty detailed and well-made imitations, too. There’s a whole subculture of Overwatch cosplayers. You’re the most popular, obviously. But I’ve seen some Lt. Wilhelms and Captain Amaris, too.”

“Any Gabes?”

“No Gabes,” Ben says, laughing at Jack’s disappointed pout. “I’m sure there would be, but Blackwatch is a top-secret ops unit. No one sees him.”

“That’s too bad. He’s way sexier than me.” Jack pauses for a beat, then pinches Ben’s arm. “Hey, you’re supposed to disagree with me.”

“Jack, if I lie to you about that, how can you ever trust me in the future?”

“You little shit,” Jack says, kissing the top of his blonde head. “Gabe was right, we are bad influences on each other.”

When Gabe returns home that evening, he finds Jack lounging on the sofa in his underwear with Ben sprawled across his lap, similarly clad, but with he addition of a white t-shirt. There are empty ice cream containers on the coffee table and they are watching some godawful reality show about a bunch of idiots and Omnic idiots trying to create drama by using each other’s toiletries or charging stations or whatever nonsense.

He crosses his arms and eyes them disapprovingly. “What did I tell you, Ben. I told you he’d lay around in his underwear eating ice cream all day if you didn’t stop him.”

Ben lifts his head and grins. “You jealous?”

“Maybe,” Gabe says. “How much sex did you two have while I was working?”

Jack and Ben look at each other, then up at Gabe, all wide-eyed innocence.

“Just…a little bit,” Jack says noncommittally.

“Yeah, we were very good,” Ben chimes in. “We only fucked three times while you were gone.”

Jack nods. “I’d say we exercised admirable restraint under the circumstances, Gabe.”

“Well, I guess you earned your ice cream, then,” Gabe says, turning toward the kitchen. “You better have saved some for me.”

“Ice cream or sex?” Jack asks.

Gabe flashes a wicked grin over his shoulder. “Both.”

 

 

 

 


	109. Llámenme Ismael

 

 

 

“Looks like they set charges to breach the gate,” Jesse whispers to Genji. “But why’d they bother puttin’ it back up? Look at the hinges. And this lock and chain’s brand new.”

“Perhaps whoever did this intended that it appear secure from the street,” Genji offers. “If they wished to avoid attention from the local law enforcement, such a thing would be prudent.”

“I don’t reckon the Yucatán Police do a lot of patrollin’ around here. I wonder why they busted in the gate in the first place. The doors woulda been easier.”

“They must have entered the compound with a vehicle.”

“Seems like a fool thing to do, if they wanted the element of surprise workin’ for ‘em. Maybe they was expectin’ to haul someone out.”

“Using explosives to breach the gate would have alerted their targets before they entered. Secrecy does not appear to have bee a primary concern.”

“Yeah, that means they was pretty sure it wadn’t gonna be a fair fight. Musta been a whole grip of ‘em. More’n one vehicle.” Jesse squints up at the wall. “If there was a firefight inside, this white plaster’s gonna look like Swiss cheese. Maybe we can dig out some bullets, see what kinda hardware they was packin’. You wanna hop over and let me in?”

“If you wish, but the postern door is intact. Opening it may trigger an alarm.”

Jesse shakes his head. “Naw, no power, no alarm. Plus, it don’t look like there’s anyone to hear it, anyhow.”

“Very well. But be on your guard. I feel uneasy about this.”

With that, Genji leaps up and slips silently over the high, white wall. Jesse stands beside the door, waiting and listening. He hears nothing of his friend’s movements until the metallic _chunk_ as the lock disengages. The door swings partway open and he sees Genji’s red eyes glowing in the darkness inside. He creeps inside and shuts the door softly behind him, and they crouch in the archway, scanning the area. The courtyard is dead and silent, but for the muted thunder of the waves on the rocky shore far below.

“Let’s take the perimeter. Stay by the wall long as we can,” Jesse whispers. “There’s a breezeway between the main building and the south wing. Should be good cover to an entry point.”

Genji nods and the two pick their way stealthily through the dark, keeping to the shadow beneath the wall, till they reach the east side of the complex. The wall here borders the cliff and is lower, to offer an unobstructed view of the sea from the smaller, private courtyard, which is paved with red brick and lined with stone meditation benches and potted plants. A stone’s throw away, the roofed breezeway stretches between the main building and the south wing, which had contained the living quarters of the friars in ages past. Jesse begins to move toward the buildings, but Genji grabs his arm and stops him.

“Wait,” he whispers. “Listen.”

Jesse waits and listens, but he hears nothing but the waves. He looks at Genji questioningly.

“There is something here,” Genji says, still in a whisper. “I can hear it.”

“Somethin’ like what?” Jesse frowns.

“I do not know. It is there, in the south wing. Something mechanical that still has power. A backup generator, perhaps?”

“Hm. I don’t like that. We’ll keep an eye out. Let me know if you hear anything else.”

The two slip across the moonlit courtyard into the deep shadow of the arched breezeway. Jesse halts and turns to Genji, who cocks his head, peering into the darkness. Then a look of sudden recognition spreads over the visible portion of his face.

“I have heard a sound like this before,” he whispers. “It is—”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. As he is speaking, there is a brilliant flash of magenta-hued light, and he drops to the ground like a stone. At the same time, Jesse is struck by a forceful blow to the back of his head that knocks off his hat and sends him sprawling forward. He tries to recover, but finds that his prosthetic arm is a dead weight on his body, numb and unresponsive. Unprepared and off balance, he falls onto his stomach on the brick. Impossibly strong hands grapple him from behind and restrain him, as a black hood is yanked over his head. A hand is clamped over his mouth through the hood, muffling his exclamation of protest.

“¡Mira!” he hears a male voice whisper, as he is hauled roughly to his feet. “¿Que es eso?”

“No se,” a female voice hisses back. “Llévalo adentro. ¡Órale!”

Jesse struggles against the restraining arms, more to gauge the strength of his captor than from a real attempt to escape. They are as unyielding as steel, and the body he is being clutched against as he is dragged along is hard and inflexible. Full-plate body armor. So they’re either military, or very well-outfitted mercs. No scavver in these parts has access to body armor like this.

Beneath his running analysis of his situation, however, is a growing knot of cold panic in his stomach. The EMP that disabled his arm must have knocked Genji offline. His cybernetic and organic systems rely on each other to keep him alive, and if he stays offline too long, he’ll die.

He feels himself being carried into a room and deposited in a chair, where his arms are pulled roughly behind him and secured in heavy cuffs. The feeling has already begun to return to his prosthetic. He flexes his fingers to see that it is functioning again, but doesn’t struggle for now. Best not to piss them off until he knows more about the situation.

“Mi compa,” he says to his captor, as his ankles are bound to the chair legs. “¿Donde es mi compa?”

“Cállete,” the male voice barks, with a sharp cuff across Jesse’s hooded cheek.

He feels his revolver and stun grenades being unclipped and taken away, then he hears the man’s footsteps walking out of the room. He yanks and struggles against the restraints, growing increasingly agitated for Genji’s safety.

“Siéntate quieto,” another voice says coolly. Another female voice, different from the one he heard outside. Much older, husky and smoky. “Hablarás cuando digamos que hable.”

Jesse sits still while he is briefly patted down. Blackwatch agents don’t carry any identifying documents or gear, so he is unconcerned with the process, meditating instead on how he’s going to gut these motherfuckers the second he gets free. After a minute or two, he hears footsteps returning and then a metallic scrape, as something heavy is hoisted onto the floor beside his chair. There is a pause, then the hood is yanked abruptly off his head.

He blinks about in the dim light cast by an illumination pod floating above him. Genji is lying motionless on his stomach a few feet away. He isn’t restrained, but there is some kind of device, like a little metal disc, attached to the back of his neck. Standing before Jesse is a grey-cloaked and hooded figure, whose face is obscured in the shadows. The slight build suggests that this is the owner of one of the female voices he heard.

Beside her towers a second figure, an Omnic in a white tank top and black combat trousers. It is made to somewhat resemble a tall, muscular male human, with a broad chest, large, powerful arms, and an imposing bearing. Jesse immediately recognizes it as an X6-M393, a law-enforcement model, but this one is obviously modded. His body is black and chrome all over, and he has a fin like a short mohawk in the center of his head. The most striking thing about him are his eyes, which glow amber-gold rather than the standard Omnica turquoise. That, and the fact that these people are clearly not Federales, means the the bot is likely stolen and his mods are certainly illegal. Jesse can’t see the owner of the second female voice anywhere, but he does not particularly care, at the moment.

“¿Que es él?” the bot says, indicating to Genji. “Nunca he visto un hombre como éste.”

Jesse ignores him and addresses the hooded figure, who appears to be in charge. “Por favor, ayuda mi compa. Él podría morir.”

She steps forward and pauses, apparently looking him over. Jesse keeps his eyes on her, though he can’t see her face under the shadow of her hood in the dim overhead light.

“Please, help my friend,” he repeats imploringly. “I just gotta be sure he’s ok, then I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“Your companion is unharmed,” the bot says, in smooth unaccented English, still looking at Genji. “He is incapacitated, but his internal systems are operational.”

“No puede ser,” the hooded figure says, shaking her head slowly. “Es…imposible. Jesse. You are Jesse McCree.”

Jesse gives a start and blinks up at her. He knows that voice, but he can’t seem to place it. “Yes, ma’am…how d’you know my name?”

She throws her hood back and steps into the light, revealing silver-grey hair and an old, familiar face.

“Holy shit, Luz!” Jesse exclaims, beside himself. “Luz, I can’t fuckin’ believe it!”

“Neither can I,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you were dead. You _should_ be dead, Jesse, what the fuck happened to you?”

“You got time for a long story?”

She puts her hands on her hips. “Why don’t you tell me what you are doing snooping around here first. We almost killed you.”

“Come on, Luz, you know I ain’t a fool,” Jesse says. “I’ll tell you everything you wanna know, but you gotta cut us loose and let me make sure my friend’s ok.”

“I don’t know, Jesse,” she says, hesitating. “I’ll uncuff you, but he looks dangerous.”

“Course he is,” Jesse laughs. “He’s dangerous as fuck. Why else would I be runnin’ with him? But he ain’t gonna try anything, I swear. I reckon if he does, y’all just gonna use whatever whammy you put on us back there, anyhow. So you got nothin’ to worry about.”

“He better not try anything,” a voice says from behind Jesse’s chair. The other female voice from earlier. “I’ll knock him on his ass before he can blink.”

“Ok, let him up,” Luz says. “But keep an eye on him, Vera. Maelo, get Jesse uncuffed.”

The bot tears his eyes away from Genji and comes over to unlock Jesse’s restraints. The the owner of the other voice steps into view and eyes Jesse threateningly. She is a very petite, very pretty teenaged girl, with her black hair cut in a long mohawk, which she wears swept to one side. She crouches beside Genji and removes the metal disc, then backs away and stands beside the bot.

“Hey, pal, you ok?” Jesse asks, kneeling to help Genji sit up.

Genji nods slowly, then assumes a meditative, cross-legged position on the floor, blinking around at the others with his eerie red eyes. Jesse stands and turns back to his old friend.

“Look at you,” she says, gazing at him with a maternal eye. “You are all grown up now.”

“Well you ain’t aged a day, ma’am,” Jesse grins. “Still the prettiest gun-runner in the game.”

“Pfft, enough of that,” she says. “Save it for the girls your age. Maelo, grab us some of that tequila. Jesse, why don’t you pull your chair over to the table, and we’ll all have a nice talk like civilized people, huh?”

The bot departs with a nod, and Jesse carries the chair to join others around a small dining table at the end of the sparsely furnished room. Luz calls for the illumination pod, which floats over and brightens, so they can all see each other clearly. Jesse and Genji sit down facing Luz and the young girl, who observes them guardedly with her large, violet eyes. The bot returns with a bottle of tequila, but no glasses. As is customary, Luz takes the first swig, then hands it to Jesse, who swallows a healthy draught, then sets it on the table between them.

“Ok, Jesse,” Luz says. “Let’s hear it. What are you doing here?”

“Scavvin’,” Jesse shrugs. “I know it ain’t honorable, so don’t you gimme that look, mamacita. A fella’s gotta eat. My friend and me only been in country about a day. We heard Los Muertos got hit and—no offense—y’all got a rep for bein’ well supplied. So we come to check it out ‘fore everyone else got wind of it.”

“How did you hear? No one is reporting on it.”

“I got my ear to the ground,” Jesse says mysteriously. “Can’t run my mouth, else my sources dry up, you know that.”

“Fair enough,” Luz replies. “Do you know who hit us?”

Jesse makes an educated guess and throws the die. “Naw, no one could tell me. I reckon whoever it was didn’t go talkin’ it around.”

“You are right. As far as I can tell, no one knows but us. Me, Vera, and Ismael. We are the only ones who survived.”

“Fuck me,” Jesse breathes. “They took out the whole place? Who has that kinda muscle around here?”

“No one,” Luz says grimly. “It was the same bastards who hit your people.”

Jesse’s eyes harden. “Luz…are you sayin’ it was Overwatch who done this?”

“Sí, that is what I am saying. Those motherfucking pigs stormed us in the night. They didn’t ask for nothing. They just started shooting. Maelo and I barely escaped with Vera. They killed everyone else. Everyone.”

“So Overwatch just waltzed in here in them stupid fuckin’ blue uniforms and shot the place up,” Jesse says dubiously. “How the fuck ain’t it been all over the goddamned news then, Luz?”

She shakes her head. “No blue uniforms. They wore black. All black. No marked vehicles either.”

“I don’t mean to sound like I’m doubtin’ you, but what makes you so sure it was Overwatch then?”

“Because they used military assault tactics and identified themselves verbally while they were kicking in doors to shoot our friends,” Luz says tersely. “And we know why they attacked us.”

Jesse looks back and forth between the two women and the bot. “Well?”

“Vera found—” Luz begins, but her young companion interrupts.

“We don’t have to explain anything to you, Jesse _Mac-cree_ ,” Vera sneers. “Luz may know you, but I don’t. What I do know is we caught you and Señor Roboto snooping around our home right after it got blown to shit. For all I know, you’re one of them.”

“Watch your mouth, Calavera,” Luz says quietly. “You don’t know what Overwatch did to Jesse.”

Vera crosses her arms and tosses her head defiantly, not looking the least bit chastened. Jesse finds he is rather disposed to like this little firebrand. She certainly has spirit.

“It’s alright Luz,” he says, eyeing the girl up and down. “I don’t take no offense. The kid’s just bein’ prudent and lookin’ out for y’all.”

“I’m not a fucking kid, cabron,” Vera snaps. “And I don’t give a shit if you’re offended. You want to come in here and interrogate us like you have some kind of right to know what happened? I’ll tell you what happened. They killed all our friends. That what you wanted to hear?”

“I’m sorry about that,” Jesse says. “I ain’t meant to interrogate you. I just wanted to try and understand things.”

“Whatever,” Vera mutters under her breath.

Jesse takes another swig of the tequila and draws out a tin of cigars, offering one to Luz, who gladly accepts.

“So, I reckon you want to know why I ain’t dead,” he says, after the cigars are lit.

Luz nods through the richly scented cloud of smoke. “And what happened at the Pit. We only heard rumors from the affiliated gangs and Deadlocks in other states, since not many got out of there alive.”

“I’d wager no one else got out. We was well armed and there was lots of us, but this wadn’t no gang of thugs. They was real-ass professional soldiers on a mission to destroy us. I never seen nothin’ like it.”

Jesse leans back and puffs out a few lazy smoke rings, gazing off into the middle distance. Reluctantly, he allows his submerged memories of that night to flow into his mind. Screams. The staccato report of automatic rifles. The sky on fire. Commander Reyes holding him down and growling in his ear. _I’m saving your fucking life._

“It was my fault,” he says bitterly. “I fucked up and everyone paid the price but me. How’s that for irony.”

“What do you mean it was your fault?” Luz frowns. “You were just a kid.”

“You know how Hacksaw made me his like, personal assistant and shit, right? Well, I was doin’ a fuckload more’n that. He was groomin’ me to take over. I was in on every meeting we had with every boss and he was askin’ my opinions and listenin’ to me. Showin’ me the ropes. You bought from me, you know I was makin’ arms deals by the time I was sixteen.”

Luz nods and gestures for Jesse to continue.

“One of them deals was with a fella named Rojas, operatin’ outta Mexico City. Twenty crates of Helix pulse rifles, like they used in the war. I checked him out, met with him, and everything seemed kosher. Hacksaw had some heat on him and he was stayin’ indoors, so he wanted the deal to get done in the Pit. But he only let the man in on account of I said he was ok. I thought he was, and it seemed like I was right. They talked and the goods checked out, and Hacksaw went to get the money. I never seen him again. One minute I was settin’ there smokin’ and the next…the sky exploded. Rained fire from the heavens like the book of Revelation. That man, Rojas, knocked me on my ass and carried me out while his men was burnin’ our house down and shootin’ everyone I knew.”

“Hijo de la chingada,” Luz says, shaking her head in horror. “How did you get away?”

“He stuck me on one of them jet chopper things and went back in to make sure all my friends was dead. Didn’t put no guard on me. Just me and the pilot. She was a young gal, felt bad for me cause I was just a kid. I started bawlin’ and she uncuffed me to give me a drink. I jumped her and ran. And I kept on runnin’. Like a goddamned coward.”

“Jesse, mijo, you were seventeen.” She reaches out and squeezes his hand sympathetically. “No one could blame you for running. If you had gone back, all you could have done was die. What would be the use in that?”

Jesse swallows a sharp pang of guilt and stares down at the table. He hates this. Lying. Exploiting his old friend’s motherly nature this way. But he knows Luz. If she perceives a threat to her own, even from him, that motherly softness will swiftly change into the ferocity of a mama bear defending the cubs.

“I ain’t never forgive myself for lettin’ em all die like that,” he says truthfully. “I made the deal. Hacksaw trusted me. And I ain’t even had enough honor to go back in there and die with my friends.”

“Hacksaw made his own choices,” Luz says firmly. “Entrusting major arms deals to a child…what did he think was going to happen?”

“Aw, come on now,” Jesse pouts. “I thought you liked dealin’ through me.”

Luz, laughs and pats his hand. “I did, mijo, but it was because you were so sweet and pretty. Always smiling and being such a gentleman. It gets tiring dealing with rough, ugly men and their bad manners. It was always a treat to see my chico lindo.”

Vera rolls her eyes disgustedly at this expression.

Jesse flashes her a rakish grin. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? You don’t think I’m pretty?”

“I think you look like a teibolero at a gay bar,” she retorts. “Who wears a black leather cowboy hat and chaps?”

“How do you even know what a teibolero is!” Jesse exclaims, laughing in astonishment. “You’re like, twelve years old.”

“I’m fifteen, pendejo,” Vera says indignantly. “I know things.”

“Well, I take it as a compliment, but watch what you say about it around them teiboleros. I don’t think they’d take too kindly to you suggestin’ my clumsy ass could do their job.”

“Your clumsy ass is right. Maelo and me heard you stomping around like a donkey from all the way in the tower.”

“Alright, you two, that’s enough,” Luz says sternly, as if to a pair of erring children. “We’re getting off track. Jesse, what happened after you got out of there? Where have you been all this time?”

“I hid out in one of Hacksaw’s bolt-holes for a couple days,” Jesse says, turning back to Luz. “Local law was cleanin’ up the stragglers, so anyone who wadn’t inside was gettin’ scooped up. I scraped together enough cash and bought me a ticket as far the fuck outta the US as I could. Bummed around Japan till I run outta money, then I had to look for work. I met this fella here deliverin’ video poker machines for the Yakuza. He got me in on it and we done that a while. Once I showed I was steady, we got called for better jobs. Light work. No killin’. Guardin’ warehouses when shipments come in, shakin’ down stubborn bar owners, that kinda thing. Then the heat got too hot. Japanese government busted up the Imagawas, the clan we was freelancin’ for, and we high-tailed it outta there. I said how ‘bout Mexico and he ain’t seem opposed, so here we are. I don’t reckon we’ll be stickin’ around, though. Unless y’all lookin’ to take on some new talent.”

“I doubt it,” Luz says. “Not for a while, at least. They’ll have to regroup and choose a new boss, and other gangs will be looking to take advantage of the power vacuum…everything will be chaos.”

“Ain’t you gonna take over?” Jesse asks, gesturing to her with his cigar. “You was the boss before. You got the experience and seniority.”

Luz shakes her head decidedly. “No. I’m done with them. I am taking Vera somewhere safe and we are leaving all of this gangster shit behind us. Los Muertos used to stand for something. Now, it’s just about money and power and throwing their weight around. I have been tired of it for a long time.”

“Glad to hear it,” Jesse says. “Ain’t no kinda life I’d wish on anyone else. Why’d you come back here, though? It can’t be safe.”

“We had to run for our lives. We have nothing. I had to see what we could recover before we decide our next move. Maelo scoped it out before we came, though. Yucatán State Police came and examined the scene. They took away the bodies and locked up the gate. No one has been here since that night.”

“How d’you know the place ain’t bugged?” Jesse asks, glancing up at the ceiling. “Could be a trap.”

“Pfft,” Vera says, rolling her eyes again. “If there was a bug anywhere within a kilometer of here, I’d know it. Nothing gets past my scans.”

“Oh yeah?” Jesse says, eyeing her doubtfully. “You some kinda surveillance expert, mija?”

“Don’t fucking call me mija!” the girl explodes, leaping to her feet. “You don’t get to call me that! Not ever!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jesse says, visibly startled. “I won’t say it again, I swear.”

“Vera is having a rough couple of days,” Luz says apologetically, understating the point to emphasize it. “Our friend used to call her that and she’s sensitive about it.”

“Come on, Vera, sit down,” the bot says soothingly. “He didn’t mean anything. He didn’t know.”

“It’s disrespectful anyway,” Vera fumes, dropping back into her seat. “And I _am_ a surveillance expert. That’s how we know it was Overwatch for sure. I found some wireless bugs planted around the place. Before I fried them, I traced the signal back to a satellite. Guess who owns it.”

“Overwatch got their own satellites?” Jesse asks stupidly.

“Yeah, they do. And they were spying on us already, so when I—” she breaks off and tears start in her eyes, but she blinks them back angrily. “They came for us because I knocked out their surveillance equipment. I got everyone killed. Enrique and Lalo and Chava and Isabella and—and Neto…”

The girl’s sentence breaks down into a choked sob. The bot kneels beside her, drawing her carefully into its arms and speaking softly to her in Spanish. She buries her face in its metallic chest plate and weeps, allowing herself to be rocked and comforted by her unusual companion.

There is something so touching in the tenderness of this deadly combat machine for the weeping little girl, that Jesse can’t help the lump of emotion that rises in his own throat. He takes a swig of the tequila to smooth it down. He longs to confess about the daisies and make her understand that it wasn’t Overwatch who did this. That it isn’t her fault. But he can’t risk the mission and Genji’s life to do it. After a moment, the bot says he’s going to take her to lie down. Luz nods, and he picks up the petite girl and carries her out the door.

“Jesse, listen,” Luz says, after they are gone. “I didn’t want to say this in front of Maelo and Vera, but I know you’re bullshitting me. You forget I know you. You’re a terrible liar, so just come clean with me now, ok?”

Jesse shakes his head slowly. “Luz, I swear. I swear on my mama it wadn’t us who hit you.”

“Puta madre,” Luz groans, resting her forehead in her hands. “What the fucking fuck, Jesse?”

“Luz, just stop a minute and think about it. Why would me and my friend be snoopin’ around the place if it was our own guys that done it? Those daisies Vera knocked out? They was mine. I put ‘em here. When they went down, the boss sent me and Genji to check it out. Just us two. Overwatch don’t work that way, just bustin’ in without due process and shootin’ shit up. That’s what the surveillance was for in the first place. Figurin’ out what y’all was up to so we could decide where you fit on the priority list. It wadn’t high up.”

Luz stares at him and then looks away, shaking her head, as if she is struggling with whether or not to believe him. “So that whole story about what went down at the Pit, that was bullshit?”

“Naw, every word I said was true. Only I didn’t escape. They hauled me in and questioned me. Then they told me I was workin’ for them now, and…that was that.”

“How could you do it?” she demands. “How could you join those bastards after what they did? And why didn’t you leave as soon as you had a chance? Fucking Stockholm syndrome?”

“Somethin’ like that. The man who come and took me is my father.”

“Your…your fucking father?” Luz says, looking up at him in frank disbelief. “You said your father was dead, Jesse. You said you were an orphan.”

“I was as good as one. My ma told me my pa was a worthless drunk and a drifter. I reckoned he was probably dead, and if he was alive, I wadn’t never gonna meet him anyhow.”

“Then how the fuck did it happen? How did he find you?”

“That won’t make no sense unless I tell you a lot a things I ain’t got a right to tell. All’s that matters is I found my pa. Whatever they done to Hacksaw and the gang, ain’t nothin’ ever takin’ me away from him.”

“I guess I understand why you stayed, then,” she says resignedly. “Family has to come before anything else. But what am I supposed to do now? Either I let you go and you turn us in, or what? We all kill each other?”

“Ain’t gotta be that way,” Jesse says. “You got Vera to look after and I don’t reckon it’d do her any good you goin’ to jail. So I say we have us a understanding. I don’t say nothin’ about you, and you let me go find out who’s the motherfuckers that really done this. That’s a damn sight better’n lettin’ em get away with it and killin’ an old friend instead.”

The older woman studies his face intently for a long, tense moment. “Give me your word, Jesse. Give me your word that Overwatch didn’t do this, and that you won’t send them after us.”

“I give you my word, Luz,” Jesse says, holding her gaze. “You know what that means to me.”

“I know,” she says, holding out her hand. Jesse accepts it and shakes it. “I trust you’ll keep your word, but what about your talkative friend, here?”

“I am Shimada Genji,” Genji says, in his meticulous, heavily accented English. “Son of Shimada Sojiro, Master of the Shimada Clan. I give you my word of honor that I will not betray you.”

“You talk like an old nobleman, Shimada Genji,” she says. “Strange, for a cyborg spy.”

“I was not always as you see me,” he says, with a slight bow. “My father was an old nobleman. Perhaps I have absorbed his manner of speaking. I have also learned from him the importance of honoring one’s oaths.”

“I believe you’ll honor your word,” Luz says gravely. “I don’t think I’d be alive now if you were going to betray us, anyway. Vera trusts her tech, but I suspect you’re a lot faster than she thinks.”

Genji dips his chin again. “Without the element of surprise, it is doubtful that she would have time to deploy another EMP before I killed her.”

“That’s what I thought,” she says, looking him up and down. “All these tubes and wires aren’t for show, are they.”

“Luz, listen,” Jesse says with some urgency. “If I don’t report in soon, my team’s gonna come lookin’ for us. I gotta call ‘em so they don’t do that. Then me and Genji can go over the place, see what we can tell about who done this. It’d help if you’d tell me everything you remember, too. I swear I’m gonna do everything I can to find these fuckers, and when I do, they ain’t gonna be happy.”

Luz hesitates, then relents. “Ok, call your people. Just don’t let anyone else come here. I’m going to check on Vera, then Ismael and I will take you around the place and tell you what we know. But if we find anything valuable, we’re taking it. This was our home.”

“I’ll do you one better,” Jesse says. “Y’all keep whatever we find here that ain’t a clue, and since you helpin’ us out, I’ll give you access to one of Hacksaw’s caches. Location and how to get in. It’ll be a damn sight more’n what you’re gonna salvage here, from the looks of things. Go a long way toward settin’ up your new life.”

“Thank you, Jesse. That is very generous.”

“Don’t mention it. If Hacksaw’s dirty money can help you make a better life for the kid, that’s about as good a use as I can think of for it.”

“Vera does deserve a better life,” Luz sighs. “I’m sorry you two got off on the wrong foot. You remind me a lot of each other. So fearless and bold, and wise beyond your years. Her mind is wasted living like this, with criminals and violent men, hiding from the law.”

“Well, you can see to it she won’t have to do that no more. Where’d she come from, anyhow? Street kid?”

“Oh, no. She was orphaned in the Crisis. My cousin knew her mother, and took her in after she was killed. But Vera was a handful, always getting in trouble and running off, and my cousin had six of her own kids to take care of, too. Money was getting tight and the bakery was in danger of being foreclosed, so I said I’d take her for a little while, till they could get sorted. Of course, I just fell in love with her and she’s been with me ever since.”

Jesse’s detective’s mind sounds this tale like a tuning fork and comes up with a hollow note. It isn’t the orphan part. That is true. And he can tell that she really does love Vera, and that the girl is attached to her, too. The lie is about why she is caring for her, but why? He does trust Luz’s character, however. He decides that whatever her reasons for this deception are, they are not his immediate concern.

“What about Ismael?” he asks. “He gonna stick with you?”

“Oh, he belongs to Vera. Not like property. He’s awakened. But she has that bot wrapped around her little finger, I swear. He loves her like she is the only star in the sky.”

“She got her own iron giant,” Jesse laughs. “Good. He looks like he knows his way around a fight.”

“He does,” Luz nods. “He belonged to the Federales. Our guys shot him up in a territory skirmish in Veracruz, and the cops just left him. His motor functions were fried, but his OS and hard drive were fine. We figured a valuable bot like that was worth taking, so we hauled him in to scrap him for parts. Vera wouldn’t let anyone touch him. She said he was alive and scrapping him would be murder. She kept on Elazar about it till he gave in and told her she if she could fix him, she could keep him. I don’t think he believed she could, but he should’ve known better than to underestimate Vera. In about a week, she had him fixed up and walking again. Modded him herself, too. Turned out he was awakened and he’d been hiding it from the Federales, so they wouldn’t send him to have his hard drive purged and reprogrammed.”

“Jesus, they still do that here?” Jesse says, aghast. “That’s fuckin’ sickening.”

“Mexico got hit hard in the Crisis. The recovery has been slow and painful. People are bitter and they blame the bots, so they aren’t very open to changing their views.”

“We got a friend like him. It’s a damn shame the way folks treatin’ em. I wish the UN would get off their asses and get ‘em their rights. Then no one could have ‘em erased for thinkin’ on their own.”

“I agree, but try telling that to people here,” Luz says, rising from the table. “Call your team. I’ll be back in a minute.”

After she has gone, Jesse turns to Genji. “You alright?”

“I am well,” Genji says. “My life-support functions are not affected by electromagnetic pulse disruptions. I was only paralyzed temporarily, then held by the restraining device.”

“That’s good to know. Fuck, I was real worried about you. I thought you was gonna die.”

“If it eases your mind, you are far more likely to be killed in combat than I am.”

“Yeah, thanks, Genj.”

“In fact,” Genji goes on, “your human body is far more vulnerable to injury or death by any number of causes, outside of combat, as well. Viruses, bacterial infections, tainted food, car crashes, drowning, accidental—”

“Oh, I get it. You think you’re funny now.”

“Very,” Genji says, grinning behind his mask.

“Boy howdy, I never seen a fella so pleased with his self,” Jesse grumbles, as he digs out his phone to see if it’s working. Thankfully, these devices are also shielded and not vulnerable to EMP attacks. “Hang on, I gotta let Claws know we’re alive and make sure she ain’t gonna bust in here and fuck everything up with Luz, then you can finish tellin’ me all the ways your robot parts make you better’n me.”

Jesse makes the call, explaining to a much relieved Claudia that they set off a trap, and an EMP had knocked out their comms earpieces, but they were unharmed. He tells her they have found no one present and are preparing to make a more thorough search of the place. When they hang up, Luz has not yet returned, so Jesse sips at the tequila and looks around for his weapons. They are nowhere in sight. The bot must’ve stowed them elsewhere when he took them. Jesse hopes he won’t have to cause a fuss to get them back. Commander Reyes gave him that revolver when he finished his firearms training, and it has enormous sentimental value. In a few minutes, Luz returns with the bot, who, much to Jesse’s relief, hands him back his weapons.

“Thanks, Ismael,” he says, as he tucks the revolver back into its holster. “So, you’re, uh…awakened?”

“I am,” the bot replies tranquilly. There is a hint of challenge in his tone, however. As if he is expecting to be called upon to defend himself against some verbal attack.

“I was tellin’ Luz we got a friend like you. Saved my life and helped Genji when he was real sick. I hope y’all get your rights.”

The bot only responds with a nod, but he appears to relax somewhat, and turns to peer inquisitively at Genji, as he had done before. Genji returns his gaze, and they stand silently examining one another for a long moment.

“Looks like love at first sight, to me,” Jesse grins, looking back and forth between them. “Y’all want to be alone or somethin’?”

“Come on, boys,” Luz breaks in, addressing all three. “Let’s get moving. You can get to know each other later.”

Genji and Jesse follow Luz and Ismael out into the breezeway to the living area, where Luz leads the party down a hall lined with doors, all of which have been smashed to pieces or torn from their hinges. Jesse shines a light around the first room, which is dark and in disarray. There is blood spattered on the walls, the furniture, and in dry, sticky pools on the stone floor. The other rooms are in the same state.

“What are you?” Jesse hears Ismael saying to Genji, as they are walking down the hallway to the next set of rooms. “Forgive my curiosity, but I have never seen a man like you.”

“I was…badly injured,” Genji says slowly. “Our physicians saved me, but my life is sustained entirely by cybernetic means.”

“You are both, then. Machine and man.”

“I am,” Genji says. “But I am more machine, now, than human.”

“And yet you retain your humanity,” Ismael says musingly. “It seems to be a much more difficult thing to gain than to lose.”

“For those who were born into it, as well as those were not,” Genji replies. He casts a sidelong glance at the bot. “Were you named Ismael by your manufacturer?”

“No. Vera chose my name. When she was repairing me, she read books to me. Among them was Moby Dick, in Spanish translation. The first words of the book are, ‘Llámenme Ismael.’ She liked the name and started calling me that. I kept it because she gave it to me.”

“It is well, to have a name given by a friend, that bears such personal significance,” Genji says, dipping his head. “I am Genji. I am pleased to have made your acquaintance, Ismael.”

“And I yours, Genji,” the bot says, returning the gesture.

As they traverse the halls and go from room to room, Luz and Ismael relate everything they can about what they saw, which is unfortunately very little. They’d been busy grabbing Vera and running for their lives. Jesse hadn’t expected much from them on that count, but he had hoped for more from the search. So far, there is not so much as a stray bullet-casing to be found. It appears that the men who did this were professionals, and knew not to leave such things lying around. He is beginning to be unsettled by something else, as well. The lack of bullet holes. There are simply none. Shells can be collected and carried away, but no assault team would stop to repair bullet damage to structures.

He glances over the last room, and then they continue out into the main courtyard. There is blood sprayed on a wall here and there, but otherwise the area shows very little signs of the struggle, which took place mostly inside, as the residents were surprised at night. Jesse goes to inspect an area of the wall where blood is spattered, then another. At the second, he kneels and runs his palm over the ground, then appears to be collecting something that has been scattered on the concrete. He returns to Luz and holds out his hand. In his palm, there are twisted fragments of copper, and what appear to be tiny bits of blue wax. Luz takes them and looks at them closely.

“Why the fuck would they be using these?” she asks, handing them back to Jesse.

“Only one reason to use frangible ammo for a job like this,” Jesse says grimly, as he drops them into a small, plastic evidence bag. “They knew they was gonna be workin’ in close quarters, and they was lookin’ to kill people without other people gettin’ hit by ricochet or overpenetration. Looks to me like there was someone here they wanted alive.”

“Fuck me,” Luz says, going suddenly pale. “If they killed everyone else, that means…it was one of the three of us they were after. We have to get out of here. Maelo, go get Vera ready. We can’t afford to hang around searching for scraps anymore, go.”

“Who would be after you?” Jesse asks, as the bot hurries away. “You pissed off anyone with their own military?”

“I was the leader of Los Muertos for years, Jesse, it could be a lot of people. I am not keeping Vera here to find out.”

“Luz, come with us,” Jesse says earnestly, “I’ll talk to my commander and work out a deal. We can protect you.”

“No,” she says firmly. “You may belong to Overwatch now, but I don’t trust them. I never will. Besides, I’m a wanted criminal in several countries. The only deal I’m going to get is prison. I’m taking Vera and we’re going to disappear.”

Jesse’s whole being protests the idea of these letting these three go on the run all on their own, but he knows the only way to bring Luz in now would be in cuffs, and he will not do that. He gave his word, and he will keep it.

“You gotta do what you think’s best,” he says. “I won’t ask how to get a hold of you, but I want you to call me when you get somewhere safe. Hopefully, I’ll have more on these fuckers by then. Lemme put my personal number and the info for Hacksaw’s cache in your phone. It’s a long way from here, outside of Juarez, but it’ll be worth goin’ to check out, I promise.”

Luz pulls out her phone and open the notes application, then hands it to him. He types out the relevant details and returns it. After she stows it in her jacket pocket, he takes her small, weathered hands in his large ones.

“Just…be careful, alright?” he says, looking down into her dark, deeply creased eyes. “You was always kind to me, and I know you’re one of the good ones, no matter what the law says. It’d kill me knowin’ I let you run off into danger and somethin’ happened to you or Vera.”

“I am always careful,” Luz smiles. “I will call you in a couple of weeks, when we have found somewhere to stay. What are you going to do?”

“I’ll wait till you’re good and gone, then I’ma get a hold of my boss and have him send in a team to go over every inch of the place. If those fuckers was sayin’ they was us, that makes it personal. He’ll want to find ‘em and ask ‘em to explain theirselves.”

“I hope he doesn’t ask them nicely,” Luz says.

“Oh, he won’t. I guarantee that. How y’all for wheels? You need a ride anywhere?”

“We’ve got a van stashed a couple kilometers away at a friendly junkyard. Clean plates and all that. We’ll be alright. Thank you, Jesse.”

“Naw, don’t thank me. You just make sure you don’t forget to call me.”

“I will have Maelo remind me. He never forgets anything.”

As Luz is saying this, Ismael reappears carrying a large duffel bag and leading Vera by the hand. The five walk together to the far northern end of the complex, where there is a small, wrought iron entry gate. Genji goes out first, to scout ahead and make certain the coast is clear, and Luz and Ismael stand apart, talking quietly about their plans.

Jesse is left with Vera for the moment. He looks down at her and can’t help but smile. She is wearing a rucksack that looks extremely heavy and bulky for her small frame, but she doesn’t seem to be bothered by the weight. Her face and posture are resolute, and she is superhumanly calm for a teenager under these circumstances. Vera turns and looks up at him with her big, long lashed eyes, almost eerily violet in the bright moonlight.

He smiles, though he feels suddenly uneasy. There’s something about her. Something familiar, but alien. Like the feeling people get when they say they must’ve known someone in another life. It strikes him suddenly that the circumstances of their lives are bizarrely similar. Two orphans left by fate to be raised in the wild by violent gangs of criminals. Grown up too fast and both of them smarter and probably stronger than everyone around them. Only she don’t have a pa who’s gonna come lookin’ for her one day. His heart nearly breaks at the thought. But she has Luz and Ismael to take care of her, and that’s a far better bet than she’d have otherwise.

“Hey Vera,” he says in an undertone. “Can I ask you a favor?”

“Depends,” she says suspiciously. “What kind of favor?”

“Promise me you’ll take care of Luz, ok? She’s gettin’ on in years, and she ain’t as hard and tough as she seems. She’s gonna need you.”

She frowns. “What do you care about it?”

“She was kind to me back when not a lot of folks was. She got a real good heart and I can tell she loves you.”

This seems to confuse her even more, as if it is not quite what she expected to hear from this tattooed, leather-clad, ex-arms trafficker. She stares at him and for a  moment, it almost seems as if she’s about to soften. But she immediately purses her mouth and narrows her eyes.

“Don’t you worry about Luz. I’ll take care of her,” she says, pointing her little finger at him. “But I better not catch you snooping around us ever again, Jesse McCree. If I do, I’ll use more than an EMP on your clumsy ass.”

Jesse laughs out loud. “I guess I better watch myself, then. I don’t think I want to get on your bad side, miss Vera.”

“Damn right you don’t,” she says, tossing her head proudly.

 

She’s a tough kid, Jesse thinks, as he and Genji bid the three farewell and watch them slip out the gate into the darkness of the street. She just might make it.


End file.
